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1 


PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 


BY 

ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 

AUTllOk   OF       '-^ 

"the   light   invisible,"    "RICHARD   RAYNAL  SOLITARY," 
"  THE   RELIGION  OF  THE   PLAIN   MAN,"    ETC. 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,   AND    CO. 

91   AND  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 
LONDON,  BOMBAY,  AND  CALCUTTA 

1907 


Copyright,  1907 
By  Longmans,  Green,  and  Co. 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.   U.S.A. 


/S38 

PREFACE  /  ?  <^  7 

X>< 
Persons  who  are  good  enough  to  read  this 
book  are  requested  to  keep  the  following 
setting:  of  it  before  their  minds:  — 

It  was  my  fortune  to  meet  the  author  of  the 
following  jjages  in  a  railway  carriage  about 
two  years  ago,  and  during  the  ensuing  four 
months — until,in  fact,  his  death  last  February 
year — /  may  say  that  I  enjoyed  his  friendship. 
His  story  was,  briefly,  as  folloivs:  — 
He  had  been  educated  at  Rugby  and  Oxford, 
and  shortly  before  his  father's  death  a  year  or 
two  later,  -finding  himself  completely  alone  in 
the  world,  he  had  entered  the  profession  of  the 
stage.  Here  he  was  only  moderately  successful ; 
but  he  married,  in  spite  of  that  fact,  for  he  had 
small  private  means.  Within  a  year  of  his 
marriage  his  wife  died,  leaving  him  once  more 
entirely  alone;  and  he  devoted  himself  again  to 
his  art.  Before  he  was  forty,  however,  his 
health  began  to  suffer;  and  for  the  last  three 
years  of  his  life— for  he  died  of  consumption  at 


vi  PREFACE 

the  age  of  forty-two — he  lived  alone  in  a  little 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  a  provincial  town 
whose  name  I  shall  take  leave  to  keep  to  myself. 

Here  he  began,  for  the  first  time,  apparently, 
to  pay  serious  attention  to  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion, and  conformed  naturally  to  that  system 
in  which  he  had  been  brought  up — namely,  the 
Church  of  England.  After  one  year,  however, 
of  this  life,  he  was  drawn  to  enter  a  Catholic 
church,  and  from  that  time  his  interest  in  the 
Faith  never  wavered.  There  was,  however,  in 
his  constitutio7i  a  great  deal  of  inchoate  agnos- 
ticism, and  it  ivas  not  until  within  a  week  of 
his  rather  unexpected  death  that  I  felt  myself 
justified  in  receiving  him  into  the  Catholic 
Church. 

A  couple  of  days  later  he  contracted  a  seri- 
ous chill;  and  it  was  during  visits  that  I  paid 
to  him  for  the  remainirig  five  days  of  his  life 
on  earth,  that  he  spoke  to  me  of  a  bundle  of 
papers,  and  committed  them  to  my  disposal. 
It  is  from  those  papers  that  I  have  made  the 
selection  that  form  the  folloiving  volume;  these, 
with  one  exception,  have  already  appeared  in 
the  ''Month.'' 


PREFACE 


Vll 


As  regards  their  literary  merits  they  viust 
speak  for  themselves,  but  as  regards  tJieir 
doctrinal  position  I  must  take  leave  to  say  a 
word  or  two. 

TJiey  were  %vritten,  it  must  be  remembered, 
by  one  tvJio  was  not  07ily  not  a  Catholic,  but 
who  did  not  at  all  continuously  contemplate  the 
becoming  one.  Their  point  of  view,  therefore 
—  and  it  is  in  this,  I  think,  that  their  interest 
chiefly  lies  —  is  of  one  ivho  regards  the  Catho- 
lic Church  from  ivithoid,  not  from  within, 
though  ivith  a  favourable  eye.  He  was  setting 
himself,  though  he  did  not  fully  realize  it  at 
first,  to  understand  rather  than  to  criticize,  to 
hear  what  the  Church  had  to  say  for  herself 
through  her  external  system,  rather  than  to  dis- 
pute her  right  to  speak  at  all.  And  it  was,  I 
suppose  I  may  say,  through  his  attitude  of 
simplicity,  that  he  merited,  so  far  as  one  may 
merit,  tJie  grace  of  conversion. 

With  some  of  his  thoughts  I  must  confess 
myself  unable  to  sympathize;  his  treatment  of 
the  "Dance  as  a  Religious  Exercise,^'  to  men- 
tion one  among  many,  appears  to  me  fantastic 
and  impossible,  if  not  bordering,   now  and 


viii  PREFACE 

then,  on  material  irreverence;  and  his  phil- 
osophy more  than  once  seems  to  me  probably 
untenable. 

He  seems,  too,  on  the  most  charitable  con- 
struction, to  have  been  singularly  unfortunate 
in  his  acquaintance  with  Anglican  clergy; 
and,  for  myself,  I  cannot  recognize  his  dic- 
tatorial bully  and  his  spiritual  hypochondriac 
as  in  any  way  typical  of  that  fine  body  of  men 
among  whom  I  number  several  friends.  He 
seems  to  me  to  do  much  less  than  justice  to 
the  Church  of  England  as  a  whole. 

However,  I  too  do  not  wish  to  attack,  but  to 
appreciate;  my  business  is  that  of  an  editor, 
not  of  a  critic;  I  have  only  so  far  meddled  with 
his  writings  as  to  exclude  those  that  appeared 
to  me  irrelevant  or  certainly  erroneous. 

Here  it  seems  to  me  proper  to  say  a  word 
or  two  as  to  his  person  and  habits. 

He  was  a  lean,  fair-haired  man  of  about 
six  feet  in  height,  clean-shaven,  slightly  bald, 
and  with  the  unmistakable  actor" s  face,  mobile 
and  mask-like.  He  had  his  disease,  I  thought, 
plainly  marked  when  I  first  saw  him,  but  in 
answer  to   all  entreaties  that  he  would  go 


PREFACE  ix 

abroad  or  undergo  a  rigorous  treatment,  lie  in- 
variably answered  that  prstlij  he  was  not  rieh 
enough,  and  secondly  that  he  could  not  be 
botliered.  He  seemed  to  think  that  he  would 
fulfil  Jiis  function  of  life  better  by  continuing 
his  regidar  habits  at  Iiome,  rather  than  by 
exiling  himself  in  an  tinfamiliar  atmosphere, 
or  by  bestowing  all  his  attention  on  getting 
stout;  and  I  am  not  sure,  after  all,  that  under 
tJie  circumstances  he  teas  to  be  greatly  blamed. 

He  spent  a  great  deal  of  his  day  in  the 
garden,  walking  up  and  down  the  broad  path 
that  ran  from  end  to  end  of  it,  or  reading  in 
his  study.  He  wrote  few  letters,  for  he  had 
few  friends,  but  he  passed  a  considerable  time 
each  day  on  his  diary,  ivhich  is  also  in  my 
possession.  In  the  afternoon  he  would  walk 
again  with  his  dog,  and,  towards  the  e7id  of 
Ids  life,  finish  his  exercise  by  a  visit  to  the 
church.  I  have  myself,  tivo  or  three  times, 
seen  his  dog  patiently  dribbling  on  the  steps 
during  his  master's  devotions  ivithin. 

I  have  no  death-bed  conversation  to  record. 
He  died  as  naturally  as  he  had  lived,  ob- 
viously interested  in  what  was  to  happen,  but 


X  PREFACE 

not  impatient;  free  from  any  superficial  emo- 
tion and  quite  incapable  of  making  what 
some  might  consider  suitable  remarks.  He 
received  the  last  sacraments  on  the  morning 
of  his  death,  and  died  at  the  prosaic  hour  of 
three  o^clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Yet  I  must  confess  that  I  have  never 
assisted  at  tlie  passing  of  a  soul  with  greater 
contentme7it.  Our  conversations  had  shown 
me  how  sincere  and  sound  was  his  faith,  his 
co7ifessio7is  how  deep  his  penitence.  He  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  an  excellent  example  of 
what  grace  can  effect  on  a  perfectly  simple  soul 
which  responds  to  it;  which  is  trajisformed 
without  being  transfigured;  which  passes  from 
the  natural  to  the  supernatural  without  de- 
stroying the  ladder  of  its  ascent;  which  is 
deliberate  without  being  sluggish,  ardent 
without  fanaticism,  poetical  without  wildness. 

With  regard  to  the  personages  mentioned 
in  his  pages,  I  need  hardly  say  that  I  have 
changed  their  names,  and  that  Father  Thorpe 
is  not  myself. 

Robert  Hugh  Benson. 

November,  1906. 


CONTENTS 


At  a  Requiem      ..... 

PARE 

1 

On  the  Dulnfas  of  Irreligious  People 

1  [ 

Intellectual  Slavery 

W 

A  Father  in  God         .... 

.       38 

The  Sense  of  the  Supernatural 

53 

The  Mystical  Sense  .... 

67 

Holy  Week 

.       77 

On  the  D.\nce  as  a  Reugious  Exercise 

.     lOG 

Reugious  Persecution 

l!27 

Science  and  Faith       .... 

139 

Low  Mass 

153 

Benediction 

171 

The  Personality  of  the  Church 

185 

Death 

19!) 

PAPERS    OF    A    PARIAH 
AT   A   REQUIEM 

November,  1903. 

This  morning  I  assisted  at  one  of  the  most 

impressive  dramas  in  the  world  —  I  mean 

the  Solemn   Requiem   Mass   celebrated   by 

the  Catholic  Church  on  All  Souls'  Day. 

It   was   sung   in   a   beautiful   church,   of 

which  the  altar,  the  steps,  and  the  reredos 

were   draped   in   black.     In   the   centre   of 

the  choir  stood  a  great  catafalque,  shaped 

like  a  gigantic  coffin,  yellow  and  black  on 

a  black  carpet:  six  candlesticks  as  high  as 

a  man  held  each  a  burning  yellow  candle. 

There  were  three  priests  at  the  altar,  two 

of  them  attached  to  the  church,   and  the 

third,  who  acted  as  deacon,  appeared  to  be 

a   monk,   for   his   amice-veiled   hood   hung 

over    his    shoulders.     There    was    a    small 

1 


2  PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

choir  of  boys  who  sang  very  sweetly,  and 
one  man  who  sang  alone,  for  no  organ  was 
used,  endless  and  sombre  melodies  from  a 
great  book  on  a  lectern.  It  was  a  very 
dark  morning  without  and  within,  and  the 
immense  slender  columns  of  the  church 
soared  up  into  a  gloom  that  might  well  be 
thronged  with  watching  souls.  Beneath, 
perhaps  a  hundred  persons  (mostly  in  black 
clothes),  half  of  whom  were  children,  stood 
and  knelt  and  sat  without  a  sound  for  nearly 
an  hour. 

I  am  quite  aware  that  many  regard  such  a 
ceremony  as  idle  and  useless,  if  not  worse; 
but  they  do  so  from  a  dogmatic  standpoint, 
and  I  am  not  concerned  with  that  now. 
It  is  as  a  representation  of  death  and  all 
that  that  means  that  I  think  it  worth  de- 
scribing: for  it  is  to  be  seriously  doubted 
whether  any  other  religion  under  the  sun 
gives  so  adequate  and  moving  a  picture  of 
the  one  eternal  tragedy  which  so  far  as  is 
possible  darkens  the  light  of  that  sun  for 
us  all. 

The    Church    makes    no    exceptions    or 


AT  A   REQUIEM  3 

concessions  in  the  case  of  her  children  who 
have  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity:  all 
have  fallen  short,  she  declares,  and  need 
the  mercy  of  their  God.  As  for  the  de- 
parted souls  considered  as  a  body  on  this 
day,  so  for  each  separate  soul  that  dies  in 
her  communion,  she  prescribes  penitence, 
mourning,  and  petition.  There  is  no  at- 
tempt to  canonize  before  the  time;  no  des- 
perate effort  after  brightness  or  triumph. 
White  flowers  and  wreaths  of  laurel  remain 
still  unrecognized  in  her  ritual.  It  is  the 
same  for  all,  black  and  smoky  yellow,  and 
black  again,  and,  through  all,  melancholy 
melodies  that  wail  and  soar  as  if  souls  in- 
deed were  crying  from  a  pit  wherein  is  no 
water.  There  is  hope,  certainly;  but  not 
a  touch  of  exultation,  for  the  time  for  that 
is  not  yet  come. 

Yet  her  faith  and  charity  are  unbounded. 
In  her  calendar  is  set  down  the  words.  In 
die  omnium  dejunctorum,  without  exception 
or  qualifying  clause;  and  in  her  sanctuary 
is  reared  up  a  catafalque,  empty  of  a  ma- 
terial coffin,  but  crowded,  to  her  mystical 


4  PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

eyes,  with  a  multitude  which  no  man  can 
number  of  souls  forgotten  and  remembered 
that  hasten  here  to  take  refuge  under  a  pall 
as  ample  as  her  love  and  as  heavy  as  death. 
Round  this  emblem  of  dead  humanity  there 
is  raised  a  wall  of  fire,  signified  by  the  six 
flames  rising  from  yellow  wax,  as  if  to  keep 
off  the  darkness  of  the  grave;  and  about  it 
go  her  priests,  sprinkling  hallowed  water  to 
cleanse  corruption,  and  drowning  with  sad- 
smelling,  fragrant  incense  the  odour  that 
not  even  she  can  wholly  obliterate. 

It  is  she  again  who,  while  eternally  young 
and  undying,  identifies  herself  with  the 
myriads  of  the  dead,  gathering  them  all 
up  in  her  own  person.  As  she  looks  for- 
ward with  terrified  eyes  to  the  great  day 
which  she  proclaims  is  at  hand,  she  cries 
out  in  fear,  uniting  with  herself  all  who  will 
need  mercy  then. 

Quid  sum  miser  tunc  dicturus  ? 
Quern  patromim  rogaturus  ? 
Cum  vix  justtis  sit  securus  ? 

And  again  as  she  looks  back  to  that  from 
which  springs  her  hope: 


AT  A  REQUIEM  5 

RecorJare,  Jesu  pie. 
Quod  sum  auusa  tuae  viae; 
Ne  me  perdas  ilia  die.  .  .  . 
Qui  Mariam  absolvisti, 
Et  latronem  exaudisti, 
Mihi  quoque  spem  dedisti. 

Then  once  more  she  turns  on  herself,  comes 
back  to  the  present,  and  while  still  on 
earth,  prays  for  those  who  are  not,  as  a 
mother  might  pray  for  absent  children. 

Eternal  rest  give  unto  them,  O  Lord:  And  let  light  perpetual 
shine  upon  them.  .  .  . 

Then,  as  if  in  a  piteous  struggle  against  her 
own  stern  creed  which  declares  that  eternal 
destinies  are  decided  at  death,  she  entreats 
God  to  deliver  the  souls  of  her  departed 
children  from  the  gates  of  hell:  and  once 
more,  remembering  the  Day  that  is  always 
before  her  eyes,  "Deliver  me.  Lord,"  she 
cries  through  the  mouth  of  her  priest, 
"from  eternal  death  in  that  tremendous  day: 
when  heaven  and  earth  are  moved,  while 
Thou  comest  to  judge  the  earth  through  fire. 
I  am  all  trembling  and  afraid,  while  judg- 
ment comes  and  wrath  approaches.  .  .  .  '* 
"May  they  rest  in  peace.     Amen." 


6  PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

"Never  in  any  religion,"  writes  a  French 
author,  "has  a  more  charitable  part,  a  more 
august  mission,  been  assigned  to  man. 
Lifted  by  his  consecration  wholly  above 
humanity,  almost  deified  by  the  sacerdotal 
office,  the  priest,  while  earth  laments  or  is 
silent,  can  advance  to  the  brink  of  the  abyss 
and  intercede.  .  .  .  Timid  and  distant,  plain- 
tive and  sweet,  this  Amen  said,  *We  have 
done  what  we  could,  but .  .  .  but .  .  . '" 

Now  all  this  may  appear  dangerous  non- 
sense to  many  people;  but,  as  I  said  before, 
I  am  not  concerned  with  dogma.  It  was 
as  a  mirror  of  my  own  human  instincts 
and  ideas  that  this  Mass  for  the  Dead 
moved  me  so  profoundly.  Whether  or  not 
that  sacrifice  and  those  prayers  prevail,  the 
whole  affair  was  none  the  less  an  amazing 
drama  as  true  to  life  as  to  death. 

Death  is  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  fact, 
but  it  is  a  fact;  and,  I  suppose,  that  there 
never  has  lived  a  man  who  has  not  formed 
some  ideas  on  the  subject.  There  is  first 
of  all  its  horror  and  darkness;  and  it  is  not 


AT  A   REQUIEM  7 

the  smallest  use  to  pretend  that  we  are  not 
aware  of  these  features.  The  Gospel  of 
Cheerfulness,  preached  so  gaily  and  cou- 
rageously by  Stevenson,  and  welcomed  so 
thankfully  by  many  thousands  of  readers,  is 
a  poor  thing  if  it  does  not  take  into  account 
the  end  of  us  all.  Of  course  the  perfection 
of  philosophy  is  to  unite  all  known  data 
into  a  single  theory;  but  for  most  of  us  it 
is  necessary  to  go  into  committee  on  life, 
and  consider  its  component  elements  one 
by  one;  we  have  not  attained  to  the  serene 
heights  of  eternal  contemplation.  While 
we  regard  the  phenomenon  of  Birth  it  is 
not  possible  to  do  justice  to  that  of  Death 
—  the  cradle  and  the  grave  are  too  far 
apart  to  be  included  in  one  glance  —  no 
more  than  at  marriage  a  man  should  set 
about  engaging  his  counsel  for  the  Divorce 
Court. 

Therefore  it  is  surely  wholesome  for  us 
now  and  then,  though  not  too  often,  to  look 
steadily  upon  coffins  and  churchyards.  To 
dwell  always  in  a  nuptial  chamber  or  a 
dining-room  is  as  narrow  and  enervating. 


8  PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

as  it  is  morbid  and  depressing  to  pitch  our 
tents  permanently  in  a  cemetery.  Nor  is 
it  even  the  highest  philosophy  to  level  the 
graves  to  a  lawn  and  plant  flowers  there, 
and  turn  a  stream  through  it,  and  pretend 
that  it  is  something  else.  It  is  not  some- 
thing else;  it  is  a  cemetery. 

Now  this  element  of  death  is  perfectly 
recognized  at  a  Requiem.  I  despair  of 
making  clear,  to  those  who  cannot  see  it 
for  themselves,  the  indescribably  terrible 
combination  of  the  colours  of  yellow  and 
black,  the  deathliness  of  the  contrast  be- 
tween flames  and  the  unbleached  wax  from 
which  they  rise.  No  man  could  come 
away  from  a  Requiem  Mass,  where  he  had 
behaved  with  a  decent  mental  composure, 
without  being  aware,  both  from  the  sights 
he  has  looked  upon,  and  the  sounds  that  he 
has  heard  —  those  wailing  airs  unsupported 
by  the  genial  organ,  those  clusters  of  neumes 
that  rise  and  falter  as  they  rise  —  without 
being  aware  that  Death  is  a  terrible  and  a 
revolting  thing:  I  defy  him  to  be  eloquent 
in  the  bleak  Gospel  of  Cheerfulness  for  at 


AT   A   REQUIEM  9 

least  ten  minutes  after  the  last  Amen  has 
ceased. 

This  then  is  faced ;  but  it  is  not  left  there. 
Other  emotions  have  been  represented,  and 
chief  among  them  that  emotion  of  hope 
that  so  resolutely  refuses  to  die.  A  man 
may  laugh  at  Purgatory,  and  proclaim  in 
debating  societies  that  he  for  one  regards 
himself  as  a  candle  that  will  presently  be 
blown  out;  but  when  he  is  quite  alone  and 
has  drunk  his  glass  of  whisky-and-water, 
and  thrown  the  butt  of  his  cigarette  into 
the  fire,  and  the  last  doors  have  banged, 
and  he  gets  up  and  whistles  himself  into  his 
bedroom  —  well,  I  venture  to  assert  that 
he  would  not  have  drunk  his  glass  so 
genially  or  whistled  so  shrilly,  if  he  was  not 
perfectly  aware  that  somewhere  below  that 
beautiful  waistcoat  there  was  a  dim  and 
faint  hope  that  he  had  over-stated  the  case 
just  now  in  Jones'  rooms. 

That  emotion,  then  —  quite  apart  from 
explicit  statements  of  dogma  —  has  been 
represented  in  the  Requiem  Mass.  Else 
why  the  smell  of  incense,  the  beads  of  water, 


10         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

and  the  candle-flames?  It  is  very  well  to 
speak  of  the  "  Confraternity  of  the  Faithless 
.  .  .  where,  on  an  altar,  on  which  no  taper 
burned,  a  priest,  in  whose  heart  peace  had 
no  dwelling,  might  celebrate  with  unblessed 
bread  and  a  chalice  empty  of  wine,"  but 
after  all,  when  such  a  sanctuary  is  raised, 
I  predict  that  some  one  of  the  Confraternity, 
no  doubt  with  many  apologies  and  dis- 
claimers, will  be  found  to  insist  upon 
striking  a  match.  Men  can  no  more  live 
without  fire  and  light  than  hearts  can  con- 
tinue to  beat  without  hope. 

And  these  two  emotions,  terror  and  hope, 
are  welded  into  a  trinity  by  a  third  that 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  both,  —  I  mean 
penitence. 

We  are  all  perfectly  at  liberty  to  dislike 
that  word;  it  is  possible  that  we  associate 
it  with  hypocrisy,  or  weak-mindedness,  or 
crocodile-crying;  but  we  know  what  is 
meant  by  it;  and  surely  it  may  stand  as  a 
label  upon  that  piece  of  luggage  that  we 
all  bear  with  us,  and  which  contains  in 
its   paradoxical    constitution  regret   for  an 


AT  A  REQUIEM  11 

irrevocable  past,  and  a  certainty  that  it  is 
neither  past  nor  irrevocable.  Charity,  Mr. 
Chesterton  says  somewhere,  is  the  pardon- 
ing of  the  unpardonable;  and  may  we  not 
add  to  that,  tliat  penitence  is  a  denying  of 
the  undeniable  ? 

This  emotion  too,  then,  is  well  repre- 
sented in  a  Requiem;  in  fact  we  may  say 
that  nothing  else  is  represented  except  so 
far  as  it  is  an  element  of  this.  From  the 
Co7ifiteor  Deo  omniyotenti  of  the  three  black 
and  white  figures  bowed  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar  to  the  last  doubtful  Amen,  the  whole 
performance  is  nothing  else  than  one  heart- 
broken sob  of  sorrow.  It  is  possible  that  we 
may  repudiate  the  theological  idea  of  sin; 
but  we  cannot  help  allowing  (what  comes 
to  pretty  well  the  same  thing)  that  there  are 
certain  events  in  our  own  lives  and  in  the 
lives  of  other  people,  that  we  regret  ex- 
tremely, certain  failures  to  achieve  the 
right  thing,  certain  achievements  which  we 
should  prefer  to  have  failed. 

And  I  suppose,  too,  that  when  that  un- 
pleasant fact  to  which  a  Requiem  witnesses 


n         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

becomes  quite  imminent,  we  shall  experi- 
ence that  regret  even  more  acutely;  at  any 
rate,  it  would  not  be  unreasonable  to  do  so. 
Very  well,  then;  it  is  exactly  that  in 
which  Mass  for  the  Dead  rises  head  and 
shoulders  above  any  other  form  of  funeral 
devotion.  The  Catholic  Church  does  not 
emulate  the  eminent  man  who,  when  re- 
quested by  his  weeping  friend  at  the  hour 
of  death  to  declare  what  was  it  that  gave 
such  a  supernatural  radiance  to  his  face, 
answered  with  a  patient  smile  that  it  was 
*'the  memory  of  a  long  and  well-spent  life." 
On  the  contrary,  she  makes  not  one  refer- 
ence to  the  virtues  of  the  deceased  —  though 
it  is  only  just  to  say  that  she  has  done 
that  the  day  before  —  she  does  not  recount 
victories,  or  even  apologize  for  failures;  she 
does  what  she  considers  even  better,  she 
deplores  them. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  then 
is  that  I  am  pleased  to  have  gone  through 
those  exercises  on  All  Souls'  Day,  because 
I  feel  that  they  have  been  extremely  good 


AT   A   REQUIE:\r  13 

for  me.  I  do  not  need  any  reminders  that 
I  am  alive,  nor  that  immortaHty  may  be 
only  a  brilliant  guess,  nor  that  I  am  an 
exceedingly  fine,  manly,  successful,  and 
capable  person.  But  it  is  not  bad  for  me 
to  be  told  silently,  in  a  very  vivid  and  im- 
pressive manner,  that  I  am  certainly  going 
to  die  some  day,  that  hope  is  a  fact  that 
must  be  accounted  for,  and  that,  in  spite  of 
my  singular  probity  and  extraordinary  gifts, 
there  are  just  a  few  incidents  here  and 
there  in  my  long  roll  of  triumphs  for  which 
I  should  like  to  be  sorry. 


ON    THE    DULNESS    OF 
IRRELIGIOUS   PEOPLE 

December,  1906. 

I  HAVE,  wreathed  in  smiles,  this  moment 
let  out  of  my  front  door  a  second  cousin  of 
mine  who  has  done  me  the  honour  of  pay- 
ing his  respects  at  my  poor  house  within  a 
week  of  his  arrival  in  the  town ;  and  I  must 
acknowledge  that  my  geniality  arose  rather 
from  the  prospect  of  his  departure  than 
from  the  retrospect  of  his  visit.  I  think  I 
have  seldom  been  so  much  bored;  and  yet 
he  is  a  perfectly  intelligent  man,  he  con- 
verses agreeably,  and  he  listens  as  much  as 
he  talks.  And  now  that  I  am  alone  once 
more,  I  feel  impelled  to  discuss  the  mystery 
of  his  abysmal  dreariness. 

In  a  word,  I  believe  that  it  arises  from 
his  lack  of  the  religious  sense. 

Now,   we   have   not  been  talking  about 

14 


DULNESS  15 

religion  (nor  even  about  art,  which  I  hold 
to  be  a  kind  of  religion  in  solution);  in  fact, 
I  seldom  wish  to  engage  in  conversation 
about  God;  I  am  sufficiently  occupied  with 
thinking  about  Him.  Religion  is  one  of 
those  matters  on  which  my  judgment  is  so 
entirely  in  a  state  of  suspense  that  conversa- 
tion on  the  subject  can  be  no  more  than  a 
weighing  of  contrary  opinions.  It  is,  so  to 
speak,  sub  judice,  and  the  judge's  mouth  is 
consequently  sealed.  I  am  no  controver- 
sialist; I  wish  neither  to  give  nor  receive 
blows  in  this  quarrel;  I  have  no  interest  in 
dogma  beyond  the  question  as  to  whether 
it  may  not  happen  to  be  true,  and  I  know 
that  George  has  no  contribution  to  offer 
on  that  point.  He  has  not  arrived  at  the 
question  as  to  whether  it  is  true,  for  he  has 
already  pronounced  sentence  to  the  effect 
that  it  cannot  possibly  be  anything  but 
false,  and  therefore  is  no  more  worth  his 
discussing  than  if  a  Sadducee  should  take 
sides  in  a  scholastic  disputation  as  to  the 
number  of  angels  capable  of  dancing  simul- 
taneously on  the  point  of  a  pin. 


16         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

I  am  not,  therefore,  piqued  by  his  silence ; 
on  the  contrary,  I  appreciate  his  kindness; 
my  distress  is  caused  rather  by  my  con- 
templation of  that  arid  waste  which  he 
calls  his  mind. 

Now,  it  is  full  of  facts  intelligently  selected 
and  arranged;  he  has  a  pretty  taste  in 
domestic  architecture;  the  land  where  he 
dwells  flows  with  the  milk  of  human  kind- 
ness and  the  honey  of  friendly  affection; 
but  what  is  the  matter  with  it  is  that  it  is 
not  a  Land  of  Promise.  There  is  nothing 
whatever  beyond;  no  glimpse  of  cloud- 
wreathed  mountains,  no  peep  of  a  flushed 
sky,  no  song  of  hidden  birds,  no  whisper 
of  a  wind  that  comes  whence  no  man 
knows  and  goes  whither  no  man  guesses. 
It  is  not  even  shrouded  in  gloom  from 
which  a  trumpet  of  wrath  one  day  might 
blow;  there  is  no  peak  where  God's  feet 
might  stand  when  He  comes  to  shake  the 
earth;  no  smoke  to  hint  of  hidden  powers 
that  one  night  may  burst  in  fire.  It  is 
like  such  a  landscape  as  you  might  see  in 
a  commercial  traveller's  dream  of  Paradise. 


DULNESS  17 

It  has  paved  streets,  admirably  drained, 
lines  of  houses  planned  on  the  most  modern 
system,  and,  beyond,  the  eye  of  the  dreamer 
descries  a  flat  plain,  watered  by  a  straight 
river  on  whose  bosom  are  borne,  not  gallant 
ships  with  poop  and  gilding,  but  sensible 
barges,  loaded  to  the  water's  edge  with  the 
necessaries  of  hfe.  The  fields  stand  thick 
with  corn,  but  of  such  a  character  that  no 
man  is  moved  to  laugh  or  sing:  his  sheep 
bring  forth  thousands  and  ten  thousands, 
but  not  in  the  streets,  for  that  would 
interfere  with  the  traffic;  his  sons  grow 
up  like  the  young  plants,  but  they  are 
trained  properly  against  the  walls:  his 
daughters  cannot  be  compared  to  polished 
corners  of  the  temple,  for  George  would 
not  know  a  temple  by  sight  if  he  saw 
one:  he  would  think  it  to  be  a  Corn- 
Exchange. 

Place  by  this  the  mind,  let  us  say,  of  a 
dancing  dervish  or  a  Welsh  revivalist;  and 
what  refreshment  is  there!  The  houses  are 
ill-planned,  the  manure-heap  it  may  be 
drains    into    them,    as    in    many    an    Irish 


18         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

village;  the  children  are  dirty  and  stand 
with  tangled  hair  in  eyes  and  fingers  in 
mouth;  there  is  no  economy,  no  thrift,  no 
organization  of  resources;  there  is  nothing 
that  spells  even  the  initial  letter  of  Pro- 
gress; there  is  not  a  grain  of  commonsense 
to  be  found  in  the  dilapidated  barns;  and 
yet  I  could  spend  my  life  here  and  not 
there,  for  love  of  the  laughter,  the  tears, 
the  mystery  and  the  hope.  For  the  sky 
is  heavy  with  rain-clouds  and  gashed  with 
blue;  the  wind  blows  your  hat  off,  it  may 
be,  but  it  stirs  also  the  dew  on  the  hedges 
and  lifts  the  long  grass ;  there  is  mud  under- 
foot, but  there  may  be  jewels  there  too, 
or  a  button  perhaps,  or  a  fragment  of  a 
chandelier,  or  a  tin  soldier,  or  an  ancient 
boot.  There  are  mountains  behind  where 
saints  may  walk,  or  elves  dance,  where 
the  deer  live  and  the  goats  and  strange  wild 
creatures  that  fly  at  the  sight  or  scent  of 
man.  The  tangled  string  of  water  that 
desires  you  to  mistake  it  for  a  stream, 
would  bear  no  barge,  it  would  not  turn 
even   a   mill-wheel;   but   it   is   sufficient   to 


DULNESS  IJ) 

sweep  paper  boats  down  sideways,  to  make 
music  in  the  night,  to  tell  you  of  the  far-off 
marshes  whence  it  drew  its  life,  and  of  the 
sea  that  will  be  its  transfiguration  and  its 
tomb. 

But  the  matter  becomes  the  death  of  the 
doubly-slain  when  we  turn  from  George's 
outlook  to  the  prospect  seen  from  a  Catho- 
lic's window. 

Observe,  if  you  please,  first  the  winding 
street  beneath,  ill-paved,  perhaps,  but  then 
it  was  laid  down  nineteen  centuries  a^o. 
There  are  no  side-walks;  but  is  not  the 
jostle  of  peasant  and  prince,  of  apple- 
woman's  cart  and  beauty's  litter,  of  mangy 
donkey  and  knight's  steel-clad  charger, 
surprisingly  pleasant.^  Would  you  seri- 
ously change  that  for  a  boulevard  with 
electric  trams  and  limes  wrapped  up  in  rail- 
ings ?  Not  that  this  city  has  no  open  spaces; 
for  see  far  down  there,  beyond  the  swinging 
signs  and  the  toppling  houses,  the  great 
market-square  where  the  images  of  the 
saints  are  sold,  and  cabbages,  and  fish  for 
Friday,    and    lentils   for    Ash    Wednesday, 


20         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

and  all  the  rest  of  the  dear,  evil-smelling 
truck.  There  are  blows  bartered  there 
sometimes,  as  well  as  onions  and  pence, 
and  knives  flash  out,  and  little  streaks  of 
heart's  blood  run  between  the  cobbles;  but 
after  all,  is  that  so  much  worse  than  a 
solemn-faced  policeman  and  Black  Maria 
and  the  dispassionate  hanging  of  a  frantic 
man?  Look  across,  too,  into  that  window 
opposite,  scarce  a  yard  away;  the  diamond 
panes  are  thick  with  dust,  but  how  pleasing 
is  the  glow  of  the  wood-fire  within,  and  the 
dim  lines  of  the  carved  bed,  and  the  gro- 
tesque shadow  of  the  old  man  sitting  over 
his  beans  in  the  chimney-corner.  Would 
you  prefer  lace-curtains  and  a  geranium-pot  ? 
See  that  very  date  and  a  pair  of  initials 
cut  in  the  oak  beneath  your  elbow,  scratched 
three  centuries  ago  perhaps  by  a  lover  with 
a  string  of  beads  in  one  hand  and  a  knife 
in  the  other,  lust,  I  dare  say,  in  his  heart, 
but  a  scapular  above  it  that  may  save  him 
yet.  Is  that  not  better  than  a  foul  word 
scribbled  on  a  paling,  that  all  deplore  and 
none  remove? 


DULNESS  21 

Look  at  that  tawdry  image  at  the  street- 
corner  with  a  Httle  hinip  before  it  and  a 
faded  marigold  at  its  foot.  Would  you 
take  that  down  and  erect  instead  a  marble 
image  in  frock-coat  and  trousers  of  a  man 
who  had  side-whiskers  and  a  blameless  life 
to  his  credit,  and  a  heart  of  flesh  instead  of 
fire,  and  eyes  that  looked  upon  a  bank- 
ing-book instead  of  upon  God,  to  his  last- 
ing and  eternal  shame  ?  I  tell  you  that 
George's  town  is  full  of  such;  and  I  think 
that  he  would  invoke  them  every  morning 
if  he  had  sufficient  imagination  and  no  one 
was  looking. 

And  now  for  the  supreme  sight  of  this 
amazing  city.  Look  up  there  to  the  right 
and  see  those  monstrous  masses,  those  flying 
arches,  those  incredible  pinnacles  soaring 
against  a  sky  of  pearl  and  amber.  Have 
you  ever  seen  a  sight  like  that  .^  Look  well 
at  it ;  for  some  say  it  is  too  good  to  be  true ; 
it  will  crumble  w^hen  the  sun  sets;  it  is  an 
illusion  of  clouds.  (But,  for  my  part,  I  prefer 
to  think  that  it  is  too  good  not  to  be  true; 
though  I  would  not  bias  you  for  the  world. ) 


22         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Within  that  long  wall  pierced  by  windows 
it  is  said  that  strange  men  dwell  in  white 
habits,  with  downcast  faces  and  a  measured 
walk.  Wonderful  things  are  whispered  of 
them  on  Saturday  nights  round  the  fire;  it 
is  reported  that  they  talk  with  angels,  that 
they  have  found  the  key  to  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven,  which,  if  what  one  said  long  ago  is 
true,  is  to  be  found  in  your  heart  and  mine, 
if  we  knew  but  the  secret  of  its  unlocking. 
There  at  least  they  are  said  to  dwell ;  it  is  at 
least  from  that  direction  that  they  come 
walking  sometimes,  and  up  that  street  that 
they  return.  But  none  that  I  know  have 
been  with  them ;  the  air  is  too  keen  up  those 
thousand  steps,  the  sounds  of  warring  clouds 
too  awful,  the  faces  that  look  from  the 
windows  on  either  side  too  white  for  you 
or  me. 

But  this  at  least  is  certain  —  the  Lord 
of  the  city  dwells  in  that  castle  beneath; 
for  he  comes  down  here  sometimes,  riding 
on  a  white  mule,  himself  in  white  and  red, 
waving  signs  and  smiling  on  the  crowds 
that   kneel   on   this   side    and    that.     I    do 


DULxXESS  23 

not  know  if  what  they  say  of  him  is  true  — 
that  he  is  more  than  just  an  old  man  with 
a  kindly  face  and  a  white  cap;  that  he  has 
treasures  of  which  the  world  does  not 
dream,  that  at  his  nod  angels  fall  to  pray- 
ing, and  when  he  speaks  there  is  commo- 
tion in  the  clouds.  It  may  be  false;  there 
may  be  no  angels,  or  clouds,  or  treasures; 
but  what  must  it  be  to  lean  always  from 
this  window  and  believe  every  word  of  it 
as  he  comes  riding  past  to  the  jingle  of  bells 
and  the  waving  of  fans  and  the  crying  of 
the  crowed! 

Here  is  a  city  of  bells;  the  sun  is  near 
its  setting,  and  from  the  huge  tower  of  the 
Lord's  castle  sound  three  strokes  and  cease; 
and  in  a  moment  all  the  world  stands  still. 
Across  these  broad  planes  of  golden  light 
above  the  roofs  and  the  twisted  chimneys 
come  sounding  a  myriad  answers;  from 
chapel  and  church  and  nunnery  and  guild- 
hall. But  these  fantastic  folk  beneath  us, 
suddenly  petrified,  stand  silent  with  moving 
lips.  The  Lord  himself  up  there  has  risen 
from   his   supper-table   and   laid   down   his 


24        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

fork;  the  mule-driver  ceases  to  curse  and 
rests  his  hand  on  his  beast's  shoulder;  the 
old  man  has  set  down  his  beans ;  the  mother 
pauses  in  her  rocking  of  the  cradle,  and 
looks  at  the  crying  child  as  if  she  did  not 
hear  him. 

Is  it  then  a  fire-alarm,  or  the  warning 
of  a  troop  coming  up  from  the  sea,  or  the 
signal  for  a  massacre?  I  can  tell  you  that 
it  is  none  of  these;  but  what  it  is  I  scarcely 
understand;  nor  scarcely  believe  what  has 
been  told  me.  You  must  ask  another. 
It  concerns  a  maiden  and  a  child  and  an 
angel  —  no  more  than  that.   .  .  . 

Now  is  not  this  wild  stuff  .^  For  I  am 
back  again  in  my  room  alone;  and  the 
dottel  of  George's  pipe  has  hardly  ceased  to 
smoke  in  the  fender;  and  the  candles  are 
not  burned  down  half  an  inch  since  he  left 
me.  But  I  have  no  question  as  to  where 
I  would  sooner  dwell  —  whether  in  George's 
boulevards,  or  in  Mosque  Al  x4ksar,  or  in 
the  City  of  dreams,  where  some  of  my 
friends  insist  that  life  can  be  supported. 


DULNESS  25 

I  am  not  concerned  at  this  moment  as 
to  whether  this  or  tliat  is  true,  for  I  have 
no  means  of  teUing;  perhaps  some  day  I 
may  see  more  clearly.  This  only  I  know; 
that  it  is  better  to  hope  than  to  despair,  it 
is  better  to  be  doubtful  than  positive,  it  is 
better  to  open  doors  than  to  shut  them;  it 
is  better  to  affirm  than  to  deny,  to  believe 
the  best  rather  than  the  worst.  And  lastly 
this,  that  if  to  live  means  to  be  like  my 
second  cousin,  —  it  is  far,  far  better  to  die 
than  to  live.   .   .  . 


INTELLECTUAL    SLAVERY 

January,  1904. 

Our  new  curate  called  upon  me  the  other 
day  and  remained  to  tea;  in  fact,  he  re- 
mained till  seven  o'clock;  and  I  cannot  but 
suspect  that  he  gave  me  so  much  of  his 
time  by  reason  of  a  rumour  which  has  run 
through  the  parish,  like  sparks  through 
stubble,  to  the  effect  that  I  was  observed 
coming  out  of  the  Papistical  Massing-house 
last  Friday,  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. Mr.  Joliffe's  cart,  with  its  blue- 
smocked,  blood-stained  driver,  was  certainly 
drawn  up  opposite  Miss  Simpson's  house 
about  that  hour,  and  I  suspect  that  her 
maid's  attention  was  drawn  to  my  emerging 
figure:  probably  when  she  took  up  the 
buttered  toast  her  mistress  was  informed,  — 
and  no  more  explanation  is  needed. 

My  young  spiritual  pastor  pronounced  a 

26 


INTELLECTUAL   SLAVERY      27 

very  fervent  discourse  u})on  intellectual 
slavery,  placing  his  fingers  together  and 
looking  tactfully  into  the  fire  for  fear  that 
he  should  observe  my  confusion.  He 
pressed  my  hand  sympathetically,  too,  as 
he  took  his  leave,  looking  sweetly  into  my 
eyes  meanwhile,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
says,  "I  understand;  I  understand.  But 
take  courage  and  be  resolute." 

I  of  course  was  silent  in  the  presence  of 
an  ordained  clergyman;  for  I  have  long 
since  learned  that  nothing  is  to  be  gained 
by  speech  on  such  occasions.  My  poor 
little  earthen  pot  of  theology  cannot  swim 
for  an  instant  in  the  same  stream  with  a 
brazen  vessel  hammered  with  consummate 
craftsmanship  for  three  long  years  in  St. 
Catherine's  College  at  Cambridge,  put 
through  the  fire  of  St.  Paul's  Epistles  in 
the  original  Greek  once  more  in  Birming- 
ham Theological  Seminary  for  eighteen 
months,  polished  and  brought  to  perfection 
by  four  years'  intellectual  struggle  with  the 
villagers  of  Little  Brasted,  and  the  occa- 
sional  reading   of   Dr.    Pearson's   standard 


28         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

work  upon  the  Creed.  Besides,  I  have 
noticed  that  ecclesiastics  of  the  EstabUsh- 
ment  are  seldom  able  to  keep  the  personal 
note  out  of  religious  discussion:  they  are 
apt  to  beg  one,  as  it  were  a  kind  of  return- 
call,  to  come  to  church  for  Morning  Prayer, 
and  to  take  as  an  insult  to  their  personal 
erudition  and  authority  any  questioning  of 
their  tenets.  I  must  confess  that  I  prefer 
to  be  told  by  a  Papist  cleric  that  he  does 
not  care  a  twopenny  piece  whether  I  believe 
him  or  not  —  (and  I  generally  don't  believe 
him  and  tell  him  so)  —  but  that  I  shall  cer- 
tainly be  damned  if  I  do  not;  and  mean- 
while (since  nothing  is  to  be  gained  by 
anticipating  the  Judgment  Day  and  our 
final  severance),  will  I  have  another  glass 
of  whisky  and  water? 

But  the  Rev.  Mr.  Marjoribanks'  remarks 
have  set  me  thinking;  and  I  am  determined 
to  pour  out  my  baffled  spleen  on  paper, 
and  behind  his  back,  since  I  am  not  man 
enough  to  do  it  in  his  presence. 

I  understood  him  to  say  that  the  Popish 


INTELLECTUAL  SLAVERY    29 

Church  fetters  the  intellect;  that  free 
thought  and  free  speech  are  forbidden; 
that  the  souls  in  bondage  to  that  institu- 
tion walk  in  chains  with  the  task-master's 
whip  flickering  about  their  shoulders;  in 
short  —  well,  all  the  rest  of  it. 

Now,  what  do  we  mean  by  "liberty"? 
It  appears  to  me  more  pertinent  to  deal 
with  that  question  first. 

A  lion  is  at  liberty  who  can  follow  the 
laws  of  his  ow^n  nature,  who  can  eat  when 
his  stomach  tells  him,  who  can  sleep  when 
his  fierce  eyes  grow  weary,  who  can  scratch 
long  furrows  in  a  forest  tree  when  his  claws 
feel  so  disposed.  He  is  not  at  liberty  when 
he  lives  in  a  cage,  is  fed  on  horseflesh  at 
4  p.m.,  and  is  compelled  at  the  point  of  a 
red-hot  poker  to  spell  P-I-G  —  PIG,  in  the 
presence  of  a  diverted  crowd. 

According  to  Mr.  Marjoribanks  a  Papist 
resembles  a  lion,  or  rather  a  kind  of  fox  or 
jackal,  in  the  latter  circumstances;  he  is 
caged  in  Councils  and  infallible  pronounce- 
ments, he  is  told  when  and  where  to  obtain 
grace,  and  he  is  prodded  by  a  weapon  which 


30         PAPERS   OF   A   PARIAH 

his  own  superstitious  fears  and  the  ambi- 
tions of  his  clergy  have  heated  red-hot  in 
the  fire  of  a  bogus  hell.  While  Mr.  Marjori- 
banks  resembles  the  monarch  of  beasts  at 
liberty,  ranging  this  fair  world  at  his  own 
will,  choosing  this  doctrine  and  not  that 
for  his  sustenance,  resting  under  the  shadow 
of  whatever  institution  seems  the  more 
convenient  —  which  in  his  case  happens  to 
be  the  Church  of  England  —  tearing  down 
this  monstrous  figment  and  sparing  that 
tender  plant,  the  terror  of  agnostics  and 
the  envy  and  admiration  of  a  captive 
Christendom. 

But  let  us  push  the  analogy  further  up 
the  scale,  and  make  a  comparison  more 
befitting  the  gentleman's  condition.  Let 
us  imagine,  not  a  lion,  but  a  child;  and  ask 
ourselves,  which  has  the  more  liberty,  the 
child  who  has  mastered  the  laws  of  grammar, 
the  elements  of  history  and  geography,  and 
a  few  of  the  physical  facts  that  tend  to 
make  life  more  easy  (such  as  that  fire  burns, 
pins  prick,  gunpowder  explodes  in  the  eyes 
if  ignited  immediately  below  them,  and  that 


INTELLECTUAL  SLAVERY      31 

the  consumption  of  yew-berrics  leads  to 
internal  discomfort)  —  or  the  child  who 
ranges  the  forest  with  the  hungry  lion  look- 
ing at  him  out  of  a  bush,  who  picks  up  a  red- 
hot  brand  because  it  looks  pretty,  whose 
vocabulary  is  confined  to  the  monosyllables 
*'boo"  and  "bah,"  who  thinks  that  a 
hedgehog  will  be  an  agreeable  bed-follow. 

Now  really,  Mr.  Marjoribanks,  the  civi- 
lized child  has  the  advantage  in  point  of 
liberty.  It  is  true  that  his  liberty  came 
under  a  disguise,  when  it  compelled  him  to 
sit  at  a  table  with  Mademoiselle  from  ten 
to  twelve  and  six  to  seven,  but  he  sat  there 
for  the  purpose  of  having  chains  broken,  not 
forged.  He  was  being  freed,  for  example, 
from  the  belief  that  Bagdad  could  be 
reached  in  a  day's  journey,  and  from  the 
discomforts  of  an  attempt  that  he  might 
otherwise  have  made  to  find  it;  he  was 
being  freed  from  the  painful  experience  of 
picking  up  a  red-hot  coal;  from  the  narrow- 
ing view  that  the  sounds  that  Frenchmen 
make  to  one  another  are  nothing  but  un- 
meaning grunts  and  whines;  and  from  the 


32         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

potentiality  of  pain  that  lay  hidden  in  those 
attractive  red  berries. 

In  other  words,  information,  if  true, 
makes  for  freedom,  not  slavery. 

If  we  turn  to  the  laws  that  govern  society 
we  are  confronted  by  a  similar  fact.  I  am 
more  free  in  that  I  can  walk  abroad  in  Little 
Brasted  with  no  other  weapon  than  an 
umbrella,  than  if  my  safety  could  only  be 
found  in  a  suit  of  steel,  a  vizored  helmet, 
and  a  battleaxe;  and  the  reason  of  my 
freedom  is  to  be  sought  ultimately  in  the 
presence  of  a  policeman,  the  existence  of  the 
gallows,  and  all  the  other  sanctions  of 
justice  against  which  the  Anarchists  cry  so 
lamentably.  Discipline,  therefore,  and  the 
threat  of  penalties,  do  not  necessarily  enslave 
their  subjects,  and  the  only  question  I  have 
a  right  to  put  is  not,  Is  not  this  compulsion, 
and  therefore  slavery.^  but^  Do  these  regu- 
lations tend  to  the  conservation  of  society 
and  to  the  survival  of  the  individual  under 
conditions  where  he  may  follow  out  the 
laws  of  normal  life  ? 

Let  us,  therefore,  apply  these  analogies 


INTELLFXTUAL   SLAVERY      33 

to  the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the  Christian 
religion. 

When  the  Papist  informs  me  that  God  is 
in  the  tabernacle  with  the  Body,  Blood,  and 
Human  Soul  assumed  in  the  Incarnation,  it 
is  the  merest  folly  to  answer,  "Such  infor- 
mation fetters  my  freedom  of  thought,  for  it 
deprives  me,  if  I  believe  it,  of  the  liberty  of 
thinking  that  He  is  not  there."  When  he 
tells  me  that  I  have  to  choose  between 
going  to  Mass  and  going  to  Hell,  and  that 
an  impure  thought  deliberately  entertained 
places  me  in  hostility  to  God  Almighty, 
who  has  bidden  me  to  be  pure  in  heart  if  I 
wish  to  enjoy  the  Beatific  Vision,  it  is  simple 
stupidity  for  me  to  answer,  "You  should 
not  have  told  me  these  truths,  for  by  doing 
so  you  have  deprived  me  of  the  liberty  of 
remaining  in  bed  all  Sunday  morning,  and 
of  encouraging  the  luxury  of  a  foul  imagina- 
tion." For  information,  if  it  is  true,  does 
not  enslave  a  man,  but  rather  frees  him 
from  the  fetters  of  ignoring  it,  as  well  as  of 
the  painful  consequences  of  disregarding  it. 

If,  then,  the  Papist  is  right,  my  liberty  is 


34         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

increased,  not  lessened,  by  the  fact  that  I 
know  more  than  I  did  before.  Ignorance 
may  be  bHss,  but  it  certainly  is  not  freedom, 
except  in  the  minds  of  those  who  prefer 
darkness  to  light,  and  chains  to  liberty. 
The  more  true  information  we  can  acquire, 
the  better  for  our  enfranchisement. 

Push  the  parallel  back  once  more  into  the 
physical  sphere,  and  re-tread  the  ground 
from  another  direction.  Granted  the  exist- 
ence of  God  the  Creator,  it  is  evident  that 
the  laws  of  nature  are  one  expression  of  His 
will.  I  may  or  may  not  like  those  laws; 
they  may  appear  to  me  indeed  profoundly 
arbitrary;  but  it  is  better  that  I  should 
know  them  than  be  ignorant  of  them,  for  it 
is  only  by  the  knowledge  of  them  that  I 
have  any  hope  of  gaining  the  mastery  of 
them  for  my  own  use,  or  indeed  of  surviving 
at  all  on  earth.  To  be  ignorant  of  the 
properties  of  lightning  and  to  take  my  stand 
during  a  thunderstorm  on  the  top  of  a  high 
hill,  brandishing  a  steel  rod  in  either  hand, 
is  to  court  the  disaster  by  which  Ajax  fell. 
The  scientist,   therefore,   who  informs  my 


INTELLECTUAL  SLAVERY      35 

ignoi'cince,  and  explains  to  me  how  electric 
force  may  be  not  only  evaded  but  positively 
set  to  turn  the  wheels  of  my  motor- 
brougham,  cannot  justly  be  cried  out  upon 
as  a  tyrant  over  my  thoughts  or  a  subverter 
of  my  liberty. 

Even  Mr.  Marjoribanks,  I  imagine,  would 
grant  me  this;  and  therefore  I  should 
desire,  if  I  had  the  courage,  to  direct  his 
attention  to  the  parallel  line  in  the  spiritual 
world.  Presumably  God  Almighty  has  a 
system  of  government,  enactments,  rewards, 
and  penalties  for  that  world  as  for  this. 
An  expert  therefore  in  that  realm,  when  he 
discloses  to  me  the  secrets  of  God's  will, 
cannot  be  blamed  if  my  personal  predi- 
lections happen  to  conflict  with  theological 
facts.  I  may  not  like  going  to  confession, 
any  more  than  I  like  the  destructive  energy 
of  lightning,  or  the  astringent  properties 
of  quinine,  but  if  those  things  are  facts  I 
had  better  know  them. 

Ah!  Mr.  Marjoribanks,  I  see  you  writh- 
ing on  your  chair  with  the  pangs  of  refu- 
tation. 


36         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

"That  is  all  very  well:  but  God  is  not 
in  the  tabernacle,  any  more  than  in  the 
confessional:  you  need  not,  in  fact  you 
must  not,  go  to  Mass,  for  it  is  no  less  than 
idolatry.  Therefore,  when  the  Papist  tells 
you  this  or  that,  he  is  enslaving  you  after 
all,  darkening  your  intellect  with  fallacies, 
and  inflaming  your  imagination  with  de- 
lusions." 

Ah!  sir,  I  understand.  But  observe  how 
you  have  shifted  your  platform.  When  you 
sat  in  my  chair  just  now  you  made  as  if 
you  waived  the  question  as  to  whether  the 
Papist  religion  were  true  or  not;  you  set 
that  generously  on  one  side  as  irrelevant; 
and  you  were  content  to  point  out  to  me 
that,  true  or  not,  such  a  system,  mapping 
out  as  it  does  the  minutiae  of  what  is  to  be 
believed  or  practised,  could  not  but  exercise 
an  enslaving  influence  on  the  fair  liberty  of 
thought  with  which  God  had  endowed  me. 
But  if  this  is  all  that  you  mean,  I  agree 
with  you  most  heartily.  The  vital  question 
for  us  both  is  not.  Should  we  prefer  to  have 
a  minute  revelation,  to  be  experts  in  the 


INTELLECTUAL  SLAVERY      37 

Divine  Will  ?  —  but,  Is  the  Romish  claim 
to  give  me  such  a  revelation  justified  or  not 
by  fact  ? 

It  is  to  that  question  that  I  had  been 
endeavouring  to  set  my  poor  powers  to 
work,  when  the  butcher  remarked  me  on 
the  steps  of  St.  Aloysius'  Church.  .  .  . 


A   FATHER    IN    GOD 

March,  1904. 

It  is  a  very  common  accusation  against 
the  Catholic  clergy  that  they  lord  it  over 
God's  inheritance,  that  they  are  domineer- 
ing and  peremptory;  and  I  suppose  it  must 
be  confessed  that  not  only  is  such  a  charge 
occasionally  true  of  individuals,  but  that  it 
corresponds  with  some  characteristic  of  that 
body  as  a  whole;  for  this  accusation  is 
levelled,  not  only  by  the  enemies  of  the 
Church,  but  even  now  and  then  by  her 
own  fractious  children. 

Now,  I  have  lately  had  one  or  two  oppor- 
tunities for  observing  the  bearing  of  the 
priest  in  this  town,  and  as  neither  an  enemy 
nor  an  adherent,  but  a  moderately  intelli- 
gent spectator,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that 
I  have  witnessed  a  display  of  that  charac- 
teristic  temper,   but  that   I   am  forced   to 

38 


A   FAIIIKR    TX   (iOl)  :v.) 

interpret  it  not  adversely  but  almost  favour- 
ably. More  than  once  I  certainly  noticed 
a  brusque  pereni|)toriness,  but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that,  so  far  as  it  was  unfor- 
tunate, it  arose  not  from  a  defect  but  an 
advantage. 

For  example,  last  Thursday  I  was  taking 
tea  with  Father  Thorpe;  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  finished  he  lit  a  cigarette.  But  he  had 
not  drawn  more  than  a  couple  of  whiffs 
before  his  rather  slovenly  maid  came  in  to 
announce  that  Mrs.  Johnson  wished  to  see 
him.  He  nodded  without  saying  anything, 
and  went  blandly  on  with  his  cigarette  and 
his  conversation.  After  about  five  minutes 
he  ground  out  the  red  tobacco  on  to  his 
saucer,  finished  his  sentence  in  a  very 
leisurely  manner,  rapped  his  fingers  a  little 
on  the  table,  and  asked  me  to  excuse 
him  a  moment.  He  went  into  the  next 
room,  leaving  the  door  half  open  behind 
him;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  unin- 
tentionally I  caught  a  scrap  or  two  of  the 
conversation. 

Now,  Mrs.   Johnson  is,  as  I  happen  to 


40         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

know,  about  the  most  wealthy  Catholic  in 
this  little  provincial  town;  and  she  is  not 
at  all  the  kind  of  woman  who  would  bear 
domineering  from  even  an  archangel.  She 
is  a  large,  severe  creature,  full,  I  should 
suppose,  of  self-regard,  and  certainly  very 
capable  in  her  way:  and  she  is  wealthy,  I 
say,  from  our  suburban  standpoint;  by 
which  I  mean  that  when  she  dines  with  the 
banker  she  drives  both  to  and  from  his 
residence  in  a  closed  fly. 

I  could  not  hear  what  she  said;  and  at 
first  I  could  not  hear  what  the  priest  said; 
then  at  last  his  voice  sounded  clear  and 
distinct  and  slightly  peevish. 

*'My  dear  child,  don't  talk  such  non- 
sense." 

I  must  confess  that  I  smiled  all  over  my 
face.  Mrs.  Johnson's  age,  I  should  suppose, 
is  thirty-seven,  and  Father  Thorpe's  cannot 
be  more  than  forty-one.  Father  Thorpe  is 
a  poor  man;  Mrs.  Johnson  is  a  rich  woman. 
Yet  the  man  called  the  woman  a  "child," 
and  bade  her  not  talk  nonsense. 


A  FATHER  IN   GOD  41 

There  was  a  little  more  murmuring  of 
voices;  then  I  heard  a  rustle  of  silk  and 
the  woman's  voice,  bland  and  grateful. 

"Very  well,  Father,  if  you  think  so." 

"I'll  go  and  see  him  soon,"  said  the 
priest,  "and  there  must  be  an  end  of  it. 
You  understand,  don't  you.^" 

Then  in  two  minutes  he  was  back  again, 
and  we  went  on  talking  as  if  nothing  was 
the  matter. 

Now,  I  do  not  say  that  his  keeping  the 
lady  waiting  while  he  finished  his  cigarette, 
nor  his  cavalier  treatment  of  what  was 
probably  a  complaint  of  some  sort,  were 
either  courteous  or  apostolic  actions;  but 
I  do  hold,  from  other  things  that  I  have 
noticed  as  regards  his  relations  with  his 
flock,  that  they  sprang  from  a  state  of 
affairs  that  ouojht  to  be  the  envy  of  the 
rest  of  Christendom.  A  Catholic  priest  is 
more  than  a  mere  father  in  name;  he  is 
really  and  truly  a  parent  to  his  people;  he 
is  human  and  peevish  sometimes,  like  the 
rest  of  us;  he  is  thoughtless  occasionally, 


42         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

no  doubt,  and  selfish,  and  brusque;  but, 
when  all  is  said  and  done,  he  is  not  in  the 
least  like  a  lawyer,  who  must  be  polite  if 
he  wishes  to  retain  his  clients,  or  a  trades- 
man, who  must  be  prompt  and  subservient 
if  he  desires  to  sell  his  wares.  On  the 
contrary,  he  is  regarded,  as  I  have  said,  as 
a  father  who  has  his  moods  like  any  one 
else,  but  who  remains  a  father  and  retains 
his  rights  in  spite  of  occasional  short- 
comings; he  has  authority  to  scold,  as  well 
as  to  forgive  sins,  and  to  say  (sometimes 
quite  unreasonably)  that  his  word  must  be 
final,  as  well  as  to  declare  the  counsel  of 
God. 

To  this  I  know  it  may  be  plausibly 
answered  that  he  has  won  this  position  by 
fear;  that,  since  he  is  supposed  to  hold 
the  keys  of  Heaven  he  is  of  course  a  danger- 
ous man  to  quarrel  with,  and  that  the  in- 
stance I  have  quoted  is  simply  one  more 
example  of  detestable  priestcraft. 

Yet  the  retort  to  that  is  perfectly  easy, 
and  falls  under  two  heads,  the  general  and 
the  particular. 


A   FAIIIER   IN   GOD  43 

As  rof]^ar(ls  the  general  principle,  I  can 
only  assure  my  fellow-Protestants  that  no 
priest  could  ever  deny  the  sacraments  or 
pretend  to  withhold  <j;race  of  any  sort  from 
those  who  hap{)ened  to  be  personally  rude 
to  him.  If  Mrs.  Johnson  had  flounced  out 
of  the  room  and  told  her  pastor  to  hold  his 
tongue  or  mend  his  manners,  nothing  in 
the  world  would  have  happened,  except 
perhaps  an  extreme  astonishment  and  a 
possible  loss  of  temper  on  the  part  of 
Father  Thorpe.  There  would  have  been 
no  bell,  book,  or  candle  rung,  read,  or 
extinguished  on  the  following  Sunday  to 
the  chastisement  of  Mrs.  Johnson's  soul. 

And,  as  regards  the  particular  instance 
under  our  attention,  I  can  only  say  that 
to  see,  as  I  have  seen,  Father  Thorpe  in 
his  school  playground,  is  coincident  with 
dismissing  from  the  mind  any  suspicion 
that  that  clergyman  rules  by  fear. 

No:  the  solution  lies  a  great  deal  deeper 
than  that;  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  whole 
conception  that  the  Catholic  laity  have 
formed  of  the  functions  of  their  pastor. 


44         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

First,  of  course,  since  he  is  a  priest  he 
must  be  implicity  obeyed  and  beHeved  in 
the  comparatively  small  sphere  of  faith 
and  morals,  though  this  does  not  involve 
the  impossibility  of  appealing  from  him  to 
his  superior  when  his  subject  is  in  grave 
doubt.  This  power  of  appeal,  however,  is 
practically  never  exercised,  owing  to  the 
admirable  training  and  searching  examina- 
tions through  which  every  priest  must 
pass  —  in  these  deep  matters  the  priest 
knows  his  business,  which  is  to  declare 
not  his  original  views,  but  the  Faith  of 
his  Church. 

But,  secondly,  since  he  is  a  real  father 
to  his  flock,  his  influence,  although  only 
that  of  a  fallible  man,  covers  a  very  wide 
field.  His  boys  will  consult  him  as  to  their 
prospects  of  work;  his  girls  will  ask  his 
advice  as  to  their  dealings  with  trouble- 
some suitors.  Often  he  may  give  faulty 
counsel,  for  he  is  acting  in  these  things  as 
an  individual,  not  as  a  representative  of 
Ecclesia  Docens;  but  nevertheless  that 
counsel  is  frequently  sought  and  generally 


A   FATHER   IN   GOD  45 

followed.  Even  when  he  is  not  consulted 
he  occasionally  intervenes,  as  when  an  Irish 
priest  in  Liverpool  issues  forth  on  Saturday 
nights  with  a  hunting-crop  kepi  for  that 
purpose  in  his  passage,  to  disperse  a  howl- 
ing mob  of  his  excited  children  who  are 
paying  the  wrong  sort  of  attention  to  the 
officer  of  the  Saxon  law. 

Now,  I  do  not  deny  that  this  extraor- 
dinary influence  is  occasionally  abused, 
and  that  priests,  since  they  are  human,  will 
sometimes  interfere  where  they  ought  not; 
but  the  danger  is  inseparable  from  every 
position  of  authority.  Home-life  is  con- 
tinually marred  by  the  efforts  or  selfish- 
ness of  a  domineering  father;  yet  few  will 
be  found  to  deplore  paternal  correction  in 
general  on  account  of  these  particular  draw- 
backs; and,  with  regard  to  the  Catholic 
priesthood,  it  may  be  asserted  without 
doubt  that  for  every  one  such  over-stepping 
of  the  limits  there  can  be  quoted  ten  thou- 
sand instances  where  a  mistake  is  avoided 
or  a  catastrophe  averted  because  there  was 
such  a  man   in  the  presbytery  who  could 


46  PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

be  consulted  without  timidity  and  obeyed 
without  question. 

Does  not  such  a  man,  after  all,  exactly 
meet  a  need  that  can  hardly  be  met  other- 
wise? Discretion  and  acquaintance  with 
human  nature  have  been  worked  into  his 
very  fibre  through  his  studies  in  casuistry 
and  his  practice  in  the  confessional:  he  has 
a  knowledge  of  family  life  beyond  that  of 
most  married  persons,  and  this  knowledge 
is  impregnated  with  kindliness,  not  bitter- 
ness; he  is  sufficiently  impressive  to  com- 
mand confidence;  he  is  indulgent  through 
his  very  experience  of  weakness  and  sin; 
and,  above  all,  he  is  pledged  by  the  most 
solemn  ties  to  support  the  cause  of  right 
and  to  foresee  the  occasions  of  wrong  which 
a  less  highly  trained  man  might  not  detect. 

He  is  a  kind  of  over-father,  bound  to  sup- 
port the  parental  authority  of  his  elder  sons, 
and  the  filial  rights  of  his  younger  children, 
to  balance,  to  decide,  to  warn,  to  encourage, 
to  dissuade  along  those  lines  which  he  be- 
lieves will  be  most  conducive  to  the  highest 
good   of   his   clients   in    particular   and   of 


A    F.VIIIER   IN   GOD  47 

the  whole  community  in  general;  and  the 
highest  proof  of  these  assertions  is  to  l)e 
found  in  the  fact  that  his  flock  after  all 
willingly  yield  to  him  the  rights  to  which 
his  position  entitles  him:  mothers  consult 
him  about  their  sons,  fathers  about  their 
wives,  children  about  their  home  duties. 
It  is  a  pleasant  sight,  1  say,  to  see  Father 
Thorpe  go  along  the  street;  a  butcher-boy 
grins  in  his  face,  calls  him  father,  and  lifts, 
not  touches,  his  cap;  he  claps  Jim  upon  the 
cheek,  and  Mary  on  the  head;  he  bids 
Selina  take  out  that  unbecoming  feather; 
frowns  indulgently  u{)on  Tom  at  the  corner 
by  the  public-house;  and  tells  his  dear 
child  Mrs.  Johnson  "not  to  talk  nonsense": 
and  all  that  the  Protestant  world  can  do  is 
to  cry  "priestcraft"  and  "Popery,"  and 
thank  God  that  her  ministers  know  their 
place  better  than  that. 

Lastly,  how  strange  it  is  that  this  state 
of  affairs  should  be  brought  a})out  through 
the  seminary  training! 

It  has  always  been  supposed,  and  indeed 


48         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

publicly  stated  by  dignitary  after  dignitary 
of  the  Establishment,  that  what  Englishmen 
wanted  was  a  pastorate  that  consisted  of 
religious  men  of  the  world  who  could  meet 
their  flocks  upon  equal  terms;  University 
men,  gentlemen,  public-school  men  —  no 
others  need  apply.  The  seminary  system 
continues  to  be  denounced  at  every  meeting 
convened  for  the  discussion  of  clerical  edu- 
cation; it  is  supposed  that  isolation,  enforced 
prayer,  precise  regulation  of  time,  separa- 
tion from  female  society,  even  celibacy  itself 
tends  to  produce  an  unreal  temper  of  mind, 
a  race  of  clergymen  with  their  heads  on 
one  side  and  an  unnatural  speaking-voice, 
a  ministry  which  may  indeed  perform  sacer- 
dotal duties  with  a  correct  deportment, 
but  which  is  utterly  incompetent  to  deal 
with  men  on  equal  terms,  or  to  descend 
to  the  dusty  arena  of  domestic  and  civil 
life. 

Yet  precisely  the  opposite  appears  to  be 
the  case.  If  I  wish  to  smoke  my  pipe  with 
a  congenial  clergyman,  or  to  hear  reason- 
able conversation  on  topics  of  the  day,  or  to 


A   FATHER    IN    GOD  49 

learn  how  to  deal  with  a  refractory  child,  or 
to  discuss  the  advisability  of  attending  a 
certain  race-meeting;  or  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  need  a  little  brisk  consolation,  or 
have  an  unpleasant  secret  to  reveal,  or  an 
inveterate  habit  to  overcome,  or  a  compli- 
cated moral  problem  to  unravel,  I  should 
not  dream  of  stepping  across  to  the  rectory 
or  to  the  new  vicarage  of  St.  Symphorosa. 
In  the  former  I  should  find  a  loud-voiced, 
thumping  sort  of  a  man,  educated  after  a 
fashion  at  the  University,  and  certainly  a 
warm-hearted,  generous  soul,  but  also  un- 
able to  understand  my  point  of  view  or  do 
anything  but  proclaim  his  own ;  in  the  latter 
an  anaemic  starveling  —  anaemic,  it  is  true, 
by  nature,  and  starveling  by  the  grace  of 
a  mortified  life  —  praiseworthy  defects  — 
who  would  do  his  utmost  to  raise  my 
thoughts  to  higher  things,  and  to  induce  me 
to  come  to  his  new  oaken-lined  vestry  next 
Saturday  and  open  my  grief  in  his  pale  ear. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  should  unhesitatingly 
take  my  hat  and  go  across  to  the  Popish 
presbytery,  where  I  should  find  a  man  who 


50         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

had  spent  ten  years  of  his  youth  in  a  rigid 
seminary,  but  who  had  somehow  emerged 
from  it  a  man  of  the  world  in  the  best  sense, 
neither  a  large-hearted  bully  nor  a  spiritual 
hypochondriac;  one  who  will  neither  shout 
at  me  nor  shrink  from  me,  who  will  possibly 
drop  his  aspirates  and  be  entirely  ignorant 
of  literature  and  art,  but  who  will  yet  listen 
to  what  I  have  to  say,  understand  me  when 
I  say  it,  and  give  me  excellent  advice.  I 
am  confident  that  he  will  hold  his  tongue, 
for  he  has  no  Eve  to  tempt  him  to  indiscre- 
tion; he  will  wear  no  frown  of  absorption, 
for  he  has  a  thousand  secrets  more  weighty 
than  my  own;  he  will  not  attempt  to 
proselytize  my  soul,  for,  as  he  justly  says, 
if  the  Catholic  Church  is  right,  it  is  I 
that  will  have  to  go  to  Hell,  not  he;  — 
who  will,  in  short,  although  he  is  two 
years  my  junior,  be  to  me  exactly  what 
my  father  was  twenty  years  ago;  tell  me 
frankly  that  I  have  been  a  fool,  advise 
me  how  to  repair  my  folly,  and  then  be 
equally  willing  to  talk  about  something 
else. 


A   FATIIHK    IN    GOD  .51 

Yes,  yes;  the  (,'alliolic  Cliurcli  is  jiniaz- 
ingly  adroit;  she  has  managed  to  produee 
grapes  from  thorns,  and  figs  from  thistles, 
and  men  of  the  workl  from  seminaries.  I 
have  not  an  idea  how  she  does  it,  unless  her 
own  exphmation  of  it  is  true  —  which  is  that 
the  knowledge  of  God  is  the  short  cut  to 
knowledge  of  man,  that  time  spent  in 
prayer  is  the  most  economical  investment 
of  a  working  hour,  and  that  meditation 
on  supernatural  mysteries  and  familiarity 
with  supernatural  things  confer  an  insight 
into  ordinary  affairs  of  common  life  that 
can  be  obtained  in  no  other  way:  unless 
once  more  Christ's  own  words  are  to  be 
taken  literally,  not  metaphorically,  and  that 
when  He  said  that  those  who  for  His  sake 
renounced  wives  and  children  and  brethren 
and  lands,  should  find  themselves  treated  as 
husbands  and  fathers  and  brothers  in  their 
turn,  that  they  who  lost  their  life  should  find 
it,  that  they  w^ho  took  the  lowest  place  should 
presently  stand  in  the  highest,  and  that  the 
meek  and  the  peacemakers  should  inherit 
the  earth,  be  called  the  children  of  God, 


52         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

shine  out  as  the  light  of  the  world,  and 
be  set  up  upon  a  high  hill,  a  city  that 
cannot  be  hid. 

Yes;  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  at  all. 
If  ever  I  find  myself  in  serious  trouble  I 
shall  go  to  a  Catholic  priest  to  extricate  me 
from  it.  .  .  . 


THE    SENSE    OF    THE 
SUPERNATURAL 

March,  1904. 

My  cousin  George  is  beginning  to  obsess 
me,  as  the  mediaeval  theologians  say.  Pie 
has  paid  me  another  visit,  and  the  aroma 
of  his  personality  still  lingers  about  my 
room. 

I  have  allowed  him  to  see  portions  of  my 
previous  remarks  upon  him;  and  since  he 
is  entirely  good-humoured,  he  professed 
himself  flattered  rather  than  annoyed.  "My 
dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "it  is  very  good  of 
you  to  be  so  much  interested.  It's  quite 
true;  I  have  never  had  any  religious  sense 
that  I  can  remember.  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  get  on  all  right  without  it;  and  as  for 
dreariness  —  well,  it  seems  to  me  that  a 
fool's  paradise  is  considerably  more  dreary 
than  the  pleasant  little  town  in  which  you 

53 


54         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

have  placed  me.  That  at  any  rate  exists; 
even  you  allow  that.  The  other  does  not, 
at  least  I  do  not  allow  that  it  does,  and  you 
cannot  prove  it.  .  .  .  For  God's  sake,  let's 
talk  about  something  else!" 

Now,  what  is  to  be  made  of  this  phenome- 
non? Is  one  bound  to  confess  then,  after 
all,  that  the  religious  sense  is  like  a  taste  for 
music  or  a  fancy  for  travel;  and  that  men 
may  fulfil  the  purpose  of  their  existence 
equally  well,  lacking  it .''  .   .   . 

Let  me  expand  the  thesis,  and  in  doing 
so,  reassure  myself. 

A  sense  of  music  or  a  taste  for  travel  are 
facts  to  be  accounted  for:  it  is  perfectly 
true  that  many  persons  appear  to  exist  in 
comfort  without  them;  but  it  is  another 
question  as  to  how  far  the  world  without 
them  could  exist  at  all. 

America,  for  example,  would  still  be 
represented  on  our  maps  by  leagues  of 
barren  water  if  Columbus  had  not  been 
inspired  with  a  divine  frenzy.  St.  James's 
Hall  would  never  have  raised  its  head  in 
Piccadilly,   nor    the   opera-house    stood    in 


THE   SUPERNATURAL   SENSE      55 

Bayreuth,  if  Beethoven  and  Wagner  had 
not  been  moved  })y  an  impulse,  that  not 
even  they  themselves  could  exj)lain,  to 
scribble  dots  and  dashes  on  and  between 
five  lines  arranged  like  a  hurdle.  Tlie  world 
would  have  been  a  poorer  place  without 
these  inexplicable  emotions  which  hard- 
headed  persons  may  denounce  as  secretions 
of  the  liver,  but  which  yet  have  crossed  seas, 
climbed  mountains,  discovered  inspiration 
in  the  crash  of  brass,  melted  lovers'  hearts 
by  a  contact  of  a  horse's  mane  and  the 
clockwork  of  a  cat,  wakened  the  dead  to 
life,  and  set  the  world  a-singing. 

Or  consider  again  those  qualities  which 
all  men  approve  and  by  which  all  profit, 
and  yet  which  none  can  justify.  Such 
things  as  chivalry,  or  the  conquest  of  the 
strong  by  the  weak;  self-sacrifice,  which 
only  becomes  sublime  when  the  certain  is 
immolated  for  the  sake  of  the  uncertain,  or 
the  greater  for  the  less,  or  the  known  for 
the  unknown,  as  when  a  mature  mother 
rejoices  to  die  for  an  impossible  child  — 
these  things  can  be  defended  by  no  argu- 


56         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

merits  which  George  is  capable  of  adducing. 
On  the  contrary,  they  can  be  mercilessly 
condemned  by  the  code  to  which  he  is  so 
fond  of  appealing.  The  Survival-of-the- 
Fittest,  the  Struggle-for-Existence,  stride 
down  on  them  like  giant  slayers;  but  I 
have  yet  to  meet  the  materialist  who,  when 
the  crisis  was  imminent,  would  not  inter- 
vene in  this  massacre  of  the  innocents. 

Religious  Emotion,  then,  is  content  to 
take  her  stand  by  these  illogical  sisters  of 
hers,  and  wait  radiantly  for  the  world's 
acquittal.  "See  what  I  have  done  for  you," 
she  cries  with  confident  eyes  and  glowing 
cheeks.  "Have  I  not,  also,  crossed  seas, 
rescued  captives,  climbed  high  hills,  haled 
you  to  Paradise,  hung  with  you  over  the 
red  mouth  of  hell,  called  you  hither  and 
thither,  and  shown  you  things  to  come? 
Have  I  not  saved  you  from  crime  when 
reason  urged  you  on,  lighted  the  lamps 
when  sense  had  put  them  out,  strengthened 
weak  knees,  and  made  the  lame  to  leap; 
opened  blind  eyes  and  deaf  ears,  painted 
the  dull  world  with  glory?     And  if  these 


THE   SUPERNATURAL   SENSE      .37 

are  too  flimsy  proofs  by  wliicli  to  justify 
myself,  —  have  I  not  laboured  in  quarries, 
and  retranslated  them  into  arch  and  pinnacle 
and  fretted  spire?  Have  I  not  walled  off 
sweet  houses  of  peace  when  all  men  were 
at  war?  Have  I  not  tuned  vour  fiddles, 
blown  your  organs,  sung  through  human 
throats,  set  dead  words  alight,  and  lifted 
you  in  spite  of  yourself  and  death  and  hell 
and  adverse  circumstance?  Have  I  not 
walked  with  you  as  children,  held  your 
hands  in  dangerous  paths,  comforted  you 
with  better  gifts  than  health  or  wealth, 
whispered  secrets  to  you  when  you  lay 
dying?  Then,  can  you  not  be  content  to 
suffer  me  to  exist,  even  if  you  do  not  know 
my  birth  or  origin  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that 
I  came  to  you  through  the  door  of  your 
heart,  and  that  my  friends  are  Art  and 
Chivalry  —  such  friends  that  we  live  and 
die  together,  for  if  you  slay  me  you  will  find 
them  dead  by  my  side." 

This  then  seems  to  be  her  answer  to 
the  jeer  that  religion  cannnot  be  proved. 
Certainly  it  cannot,   at  least   in   the  sense 


58         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

of  an  exact  science;  but  neither  can  nine 
tenths  of  what  we  take  for  granted.  I 
cannot  prove  the  beauty  of  a  Gloire-de- 
Dijon,  or  the  honesty  of  my  friend,  or  the 
pleasure  of  incipient  drunkenness;  yet  I 
do  not  for  that  reason  disregard  them  as 
merely  subjective  impressions,  true  for  me 
but  doubtful  for  another.  On  the  contrary, 
I  walk  into  my  garden  to  enjoy  myself;  I 
lend  John  five  pounds;  I  refrain  from 
more  than  two  glasses  of  beer ;  —  with 
complete  confidence  that  my  motives  are, 
if  not  reasonable,  at  least  emotional,  and 
not  in  the  least  to  be  less  depended  upon 
for  that  account. 

Or  consider  it  from  another  point  of 
view. 

The  dulness  of  irreligious  people  is  a 
fact  beyond  question:  they  yawn  in  one 
another's  company.  I  am  perfectly  pre- 
pared therefore  to  advance  to  meet  them, 
and  declare  that  their  philosophy  is  too 
dull  to  be  true. 

Their    answer    is    that    the    philosophy 


THE   SUPERNATURAL   SENSE      51) 

whicli  I  represent  is  too  good  to  be  true; 
the  world  would  be  too  lively  to  liold  to- 
gether if  miracles  and  conversions  and  such 
things  were  any  more  than  agreeable  illu- 
sions. And  to  tliat  again  I  answer  by  an 
analogy  whicli  they  are  bound  to  respect. 

I  tell  them,  out  of  their  own  mouth,  that 
phenomena  of  unassisted  nature  are  only 
uninteresting  to  those  who  are  too  blind  to 
see.  A  dust-heap,  for  example,  or  a  stretch 
of  sand,  or  a  slope  of  grass,  is  dull  only  to 
the  eyes  of  unperceptive  persons.  Dulness, 
then,  is  not  a  fact  but  an  illusion;  it  lies 
in  the  brain,  not  in  the  object  perceived. 
There  is  simply  no  limit  to  the  range  of 
interest  which  lies  at  the  feet  of  every  man. 
The  telescope  or  the  microscope  do  no  more 
than  take  him  a  step  further  along  the  road 
of  the  infinite.  Fact  is  not  onlv  stranojer 
than  fiction,  it  is  far  larger  as  well.  They 
must  allow  me,  then,  to  apply  that  canon  to 
matters  perceived  by  the  religious  sense. 
These  are  ranges  of  thought,  they  tell  me, 
that  are  not  worth  a  sensible  man's  ex- 
amination.     I    answer    that    first,    in    their 


60         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

own  words,  the  "proper  study  of  mankind 
is  man";  and  therefore  that  to  dismiss  so 
enormous  a  weight  of  what  claims  to  be 
actual  experience,  as  inconsiderable,  is  to 
confess  to  limitation  and  sectarianism: 
secondly,  that  since,  as  again  they  confess, 
truth  is  both  larger  and  stranger  than 
fiction,  it  is  beyond  man's  capacity  to 
imagine  in  excess  of  fact  —  he  may  picture 
God  as  a  family  on  Olympus,  but  he  can- 
not attain  to  His  infinity;  he  may  believe 
in  witchcraft,  but  he  cannot  fathom  the 
abyss  of  spiritual  malevolence  that  sur- 
rounds him.  The  fact,  then,  that  we  can 
imagine  a  Saviour  indicates  that  there  must 
be  one  greater  than  our  dreams;  that  we 
picture  the  streets  of  the  Heavenly  City  as 
paved  with  gold,  shows  us  that  they  are 
paved  with  something  much  better;  the 
crowns  of  light  to  which  we  aspire  must  be 
set  with  jewels,  whose  splendour  we  have 
never  seen,  and  be  wrought  in  a  workshop 
of  inconceivable  glory.  In  other  words, 
"Eye  hath  not  seen  ..."  and  the  rest  of 
the  quotation. 


rilE   SUPERNATURAL   SENSE  61 

Yes,  George,  this  is  rank  idealism  ex- 
pressed in  frothy  rhetorie.  But  remember 
that  those  two  things  have  between  them 
done  more  to  make  the  world  (which  you 
find  so  excellent)  what  it  is,  than  all  you 
and  your  friends,  and  steamships,  and  Stock 
Exchanges,  and  Societies  for  the  Propaga- 
tion of  Sound  Thinking,  would  have  done 
in  twice  the  time.  You  yourself,  for  ex- 
ample, would  not  have  existed  if  your  father 
had  not  thought  your  mother  to  be  what 
she  was  not,  and  grossly  exaggerated  what 
they  both  knew  to  be  the  truth;  and  no 
steamship  would  have  been  permitted  to 
make  foul  our  rivers  and  glad  the  hearts  of 
our  merchants,  if  Stephenson,  or  somebody 
else,  had  not  dreamed  that  perhaps  there 
was  more  in  the  kettle  than  water. 

It  would  seem,  then,  that  while  indi- 
viduals manage  to  exist  without  a  taste  for 
art,  travel,  or  religion;  yet  that,  first,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  half  their  life,  and  that  the 
only  half  worth  living,  is  generated  from 
the  products  of  these  things,  as  well  as  two 
thirds  more  of  what  is  left  in  the  realm  of 


62         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

the  purely  material.  Remove  the  instincts 
of  art,  exploration,  and  religion  from  the 
world,  and  you  are  confronted  by  a  set  of 
pigs,  dwelling,  at  the  very  best,  in  mud 
houses,  covered  with  hair,  ignorant  of  what 
lies  at  the  other  side  of  the  nearest  tree, 
doing  nothing  whatever  but  eating,  drinking, 
breathing,  and  begetting  children  in  their 
own  likeness  for  which  —  (and  no  wonder) 

—  they  have  little  affection  and  no  hope.  .  .  . 
What,  then,  is  to  be  said  for  people  like 

my  second  cousin  ? 

There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  against 
them;  they  are  barbaric  instead  of  culti- 
vated, stupid  instead  of  clever;  and  — 
which  they  would  resent  being  told  more 
than  anything  else,  —  retrograde  instead  of 
progressive.  What  few  advantages  they  have 

—  not  over  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  over 
their  savage  ancestors  —  have  accrued  to 
them  through  the  enveloping  atmosphere  of 
their  friends  and  a  certain  strain  of  heredity. 
They  have  received  treasures  of  experience 
by  their  birth  and  circumstances;  and 
though  they  are  squandering  these  as  rapidly 


rilE   SUPERNATURAL  SENSE     (v:> 

as  possible,  yet  there  are  a  few  dingy  coins 
still  in  their  dusty  cupboards  whicli  are 
sufficient,  for  the  present,  to  ensure  them  a 
right  of  entry  into  decent  society  and  a 
claim  on  the  necessaries  of  life.  My  cousin 
would  have  had  neither  clothes  to  wear  nor 
words  in  w  hicli  to  express  his  few  and  sterile 
thoughts  if  his  ancestors  had  not  been  artists 
enough  to  understand  that  drapery  was 
more  elegant  than  blue  woad,  and  their 
Roman  invaders,  murderers,  and  civilizers 
had  not  been  mad  enough  to  think  that  a 
journey  in  a  painted  boat  was  more  romantic 
than  the  perpetual  eating  of  olives  in  a  villa : 
and  it  is  obvious  that  if  George  had  pre- 
sented himself  at  my  front  door,  naked, 
howling,  and  with  a  flint-hatchet,  I  should 
have  been  compelled  to  tell  my  maid  that  I 
was  gone  out  to  see  a  man. 

Even  if  he  had  gained  admittance  I  should 
not  have  understood  him;  nor  he  me.  Yet 
when  he  actually  came  we  were  both  moder- 
ately intelligible  by  one  another,  because  he 
has  somehow  pilfered  the  use  and  meaning 
of  a  religious  vocabulary  that  he  professes  to 


64         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

despise.  When  he  spoke  of  "Hfe  being 
very  pleasant  in  this  Httle  place,"  he  ex- 
plicitly recognized,  first,  the  difference 
between  life  and  death,  and  therefore  im- 
plicitly the  existence  of  Heaven  and  Hell; 
second,  the  presence  in  man  of  an  apprecia- 
tive faculty  whose  roots  spring  from  his 
immortal  soul;  third,  the  laws  of  space 
which  lead  us  by  an  almost  direct  route 
to  the  relations  between  spirit  and  matter, 
the  immanence  and  transcendency  of  God, 
and  even  to  the  central  mystery  of  the 
Christian  revelation.  He  confessed,  too,  his 
indebtedness  to  scholastic  grammarians, 
since  he  guided  his  speech  more  or  less 
according  to  their  injunctions;  he  bore 
witness,  by  the  use  of  his  fourth  word, 
to  the  Norman  invasion,  itself  undertaken 
under  the  Church's  blessing  and  sanction; 
in  fact,  he  showed  himself  to  be  the  sub- 
missive heir  of  the  Christian  ages,  instead 
of,  as  he  fondly  imagines,  their  dispassionate 
subverter. 

Yet  there  is  even  more  to  be  said  for  him 
than  these  pleas  which  he  would  so  fiercely 


THE   SUrERNATLRAL   SENSE   05 

reject,  if  he  knew  that  I  was  putting  them 
forward  on  his  behalf. 

AVhen  1  ask  myself  why  he  did  not 
strangle  me  as  I  stooped  to  poke  the  fire, 
I  am  bound  to  answer  that  1  do  not  believe 
that  he  was  restrained  solely  by  his  fear  of 
the  police.  I  think  George  to  be  a  tolerably 
moral  man.  This  of  course,  too,  he  would 
repudiate:  the  word  "unmoral"  is  for  ever 
on  his  lips:  yet  he  leads  a  life  that  would 
put  to  shame  a  Christian  baron  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  I  am  aware  that  he  preaches 
the  gospel  of  the  fatherly  cynic  as  he  sits 
over  his  fire  sometimes,  with  an  impression- 
able young  man;  but  like  many  other 
preachers,  he  would  not  even  dream  of 
practising  the  code  which  he  proclaims. 

I  am  forced,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  religious  spirit  dominates  not  only 
his  vocabulary,  his  methods  of  thought,  and 
his  behaviour,  but  even  the  mind  that 
underlies  them  and  makes  them  what  tliev 

« 

are.  In  other  words,  he  is  a  profoundly 
religious  man. 

He  confesses  in  his  life  the  existence  of  a 


66         PAPERS   OF  A   PARIAH 

code  on  which  he  can  offer  no  remarKs 
worth  hearing;  and  he  perpetually  gives 
the  lie  to  his  dictum  that  sin  lies  not  in 
action  but  excess. 

He  avails  himself  thankfully  of  the  innu- 
merable advantages  which  the  faith,  hope, 
and  love  of  his  friends  and  ancestors  pro- 
vide so  kindly  for  his  support,  though  he 
refuses  to  acknowledge  their  source.  He 
lies,  like  a  child  at  his  mother's  breast, 
drinking  the  sweetness  that  he  does  not 
understand  and  the  strength  which  makes 
him  what  he  is:  he  guides  his  life  by  prin- 
ciples too  bright  for  his  enfeebled  eyes  to 
look  upon.  I  hold,  then,  that  mystically 
and  effectually  he  grasps  God,  though  he 
denies,  so  far  as  his  starved  and  poisoned 
consciousness  is  concerned,  that  there  is  any 
such  Person.  Yet,  when  all  is  said,  what  he 
thinks  of  God,  however,  is  not  an  important 
consideration;  but  what  God  thinks  of  him 
—  and  I  have  tried  to  show  reason  for  be- 
lieving that  this  is  not  altogether  unfavour- 
ably —  this  is  what  matters. 


THE    MYSTICAL    SENSE 

April,  1904. 

I  HAVE  been  lately  reading  a  book  by 
Mother  Juliana  of  Norwich  that  a  friend 
has  sent  me ;  —  I  have  been  doing  more 
than  read  it,  —  it  has  been  about  my  path, 
and  about  my  bed,  so  extraordinary  is  the 
fascination  of  that  holy  woman.  But  I 
do  not  want  to  say  anything  about  her 
particularly,  because  at  present  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  wish  rather  to  clear 
my  own  mind  with  regard  to  the  general 
issue. 

Mysticism,  as  Mr.  Marjoribanks  told  me, 
with  a  somewhat  sententious  air,  is  "the 
art  of  divine  union."  That  seems  to  me 
a  fair  definition,  but  like  all  short  defini- 
tions, actually  misleading,  unless  again  one 
defines  it.  We  must  begin  further  away 
than  that. 

67 


68         PAPERS   OF  A   PARIAH 

To-day  I  was  looking  out  of  my  window, 
and  saw  what  I  suppose  I  have  seen  at 
least  two  hundred  times  before  —  an  old 
chestnut  tree  outlined  against  the  sky.  I 
am  slightly  unwell;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
obvious  retort  of  the  materialist,  I  must 
state  my  belief  that  at  such  times  one 
occasionally  sees  beneath  the  surface  of 
things  in  a  very  curious  way.  At  any  rate, 
I  experienced  a  train  of  thought  that  ran 
somewhat  as  follows :  — 

There  is  that  tree,  I  said  to  myself, 
entirely  different  from  any  other  tree  in 
the  world.  Some  power  or  other  prepared 
its  seed,  caused  this  weather  and  that  to 
develop  its  possibilities,  sent  this  wind  and 
the  other  to  bend  it,  this  sunshiny  day,  that 
storm  of  rain,  mellow  days,  biting  nights, 
and  so  forth,  for  about  seventy  years.  The 
same  power  brought  it  about  that  this 
morning  was  still  and  breathless,  that  the 
sky  was  pale  blue,  that  I  lifted  my  eyes 
from  my  book  and  noticed  the  drooping 
tracery,  the  aspiring  twigs,  that  I  con- 
tinued   to    notice    it    instead    of    returning 


THE   MYSTICAL  SENSE  69 

to  my  book.  Now,  what  docs  that  all 
mean  ? 

If  we  postulate  two  things  about  the 
Power,  namely,  that  it  is  Personal  and 
Infinite,  the  meaning  of  that  series  of  links 
is  simply  inevitable.  It  was  brought  about 
that  I  might  see  it  all,  —  I  —  moi  qui  vous 
parle  —  among  other  reasons,  —  that  I 
might  discern  one  tiny  detail  of  the  immense 
character  that  is  in  some  fashion  legible 
beneath  the  outward  appearance  of  what 
I  choose  to  call  Creation. 

Now,  is  not  this  one  illustration  of  one 
department  of  what  men  have  agreed  to 
call  mysticism  ?  I  do  not  mean  that  I 
possess  that  faculty  —  in  fact,  my  failure  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  the  tree  is  a 
sign,  I  suppose,  that  I  do  not;  but  if  a 
trained  mystic  had  been  sitting  in  my  chair 
I  cannot  doubt  that  he  would  have  learned 
something,  or,  more  probably,  perceived 
one  more  example  of  some  principle  he  had 
already  grasped.  He  would  have  looked 
through  the  tree,  or  still  better,  perhaps, 
into  it,  and  seen  some  divine  thing. 


70         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

Almighty  God,  I  take  it,  has  made  the 
world,  and  arranged  causes  and  their  effects, 
with  at  least  this  purpose  among  others  — 
that  the  more  intelligent  of  His  creatures 
may  apprehend  a  little  more  of  His  charac- 
ter than  is  possible  to  them  in  any  other 
way.  A  kind  of  silence  seems  to  fall  upon 
the  soul  as  one  considers  this.  .  .  . 

Once  upon  a  time  three  men  stood  side 
by  side  looking  at  a  field  —  a  farmer,  a 
geologist,  and  a  poet.  The  farmer  saw 
the  quality  of  the  soil,  the  geologist  the 
tilt  of  the  strata,  the  poet  the  curves  and 
colours.  Each  in  the  evening,  for  his  own 
reasons,  wrote  a  report  of  what  he  had 
seen.  The  farmer  used  a  number  of  tech- 
nical terms,  recommending  his  friend  to 
buy  the  five-acre;  the  geologist  added  a 
foot  note  in  his  book  illustrative  of  some 
important  theory;  the  poet  composed  a 
sonnet  and  published  it  in  the  Westminster 
Gazette.  Each,  in  plain  language,  had  seen 
the  same  thing,  and  yet  each,  in  equally 
plain  language,  had  seen  a  totally  different 
thing. 


THE   MYSTICAL  SENSE         71 

A  kind  of  silence,  I  say,  envelops  me 
when  I  think  of  this.  I  do  not  any  longer 
want  to  laugh  at  materialists,  or  sneer  at 
scientists;  they  appear  to  me  in  a  light  of 
indescribable  pathos:  they  are  perfectly 
right  in  what  tliey  say  —  at  any  rate  I 
cannot,  and  do  not  even  wish,  to  prove 
them  wrong;  but  what  is  so  sad  about 
them  is  that,  while  they  may  be  perfectly 
right  within  their  own  limits,  they  think 
that  those  limits  are  coincident  with  the 
range  of  human  knowledge.  There  they 
go,  with  their  carpet  bags,  and  specimens, 
spectacled  and  profound,  philosophically 
enthusiastic,  thinking  that  it  all  matters 
very  much;  and  there  stares  at  the  brisk 
group,  maybe,  from  a  wayside  cottage 
some  dirty  child,  finger  in  mouth,  who 
knows  more  than  them  all.  It  is  true  that 
he  does  not  know  whether  he  lives  on  chalk 
or  gravel,  or  of  what  chemicals  his  own 
body  is  composed;  yet  he  has  looked  wide- 
eyed  at  a  running  stream,  and  paused,  stone 
in  hand,  to  hear  one  more  phrase  from  the 
plump  thrush,  and  a  world  has  opened  — 


72         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

all!  why  be  rhetorical  in  a  matter  of  such 
bewildering  simplicity?  .  .  . 

This,  then,  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
more  elementary  functions  of  the  mystical 
sense  —  to  look  through  the  outward  and  to 
—  I  do  not  say  understand,  but  —  appre- 
hend some  glimmer  of  the  Character  that 
lies  beyond.  What  is  so  seen  is  usually 
incapable  of  statement,  though  that  astonish- 
ing woman.  Mother  Juliana  of  Norwich, 
attempts  it  sometimes. 

He  showed  me  a  little  thing  [she  writes],  the 
quantity  of  a  hazel-nut,  in  the  palm  of  my  hand; 
and  it  was  as  round  as  a  ball.  I  looked  thereupon 
with  the  eye  of  my  understanding,  and  thought. 
What  may  this  be  ?  And  it  was  answered  generally 
thus:  It  is  all  that  is  made.  ...  In  this  little 
thing  I  saw  three  properties.  The  first  is  that  God 
made  it;  the  second  is  that  God  loveth  it;  the 
third  that  God  keepeth  it.  But  what  is  to  me 
verily  the  Maker,  the  Keeper  and  the  Lover  —  I 
cannot  tell;  for  till  I  am  substantially  united  with 
Him,  I  may  never  have  full  rest  nor  true  bliss. 

What  a  stammering  explanation;  and 
yet  is  it  not  evident  what  the  good  woman 


THE    MYSTICAL   SENSE         73 

is  after?     Neither  you  nor  I  can  say  what 
it  is,  and  yet  we  both  know. 

I  wonder  what  she  would  have  had  to 
say  of  my  chestnut  tree  this  morning. 

Now,  it  appears  to  me  that  this  slow  stare 
upon  nature  is  enough  work  for  any  man 
all  his  life  long;  for  consider  the  amazing 
contradictions  that  he  sees;  there  is  love, 
patience,  beauty;  and  there  is  also  hatred, 
impatience,  and  ugliness,  all  equally  obvious 
and  eloquent.  What  kind  of  a  Character 
then  must  be  deduced  ?  I  do  not  know  in 
the  least;  I  think  the  fault  lies  in  our  attempt 
to  deduce  such  anthropomorphic  fancies  at 
all;  we  must  be  content  to  take  the  symbols 
as  they  stand.  And  yet  I,  and  I  suppose 
everybody  else,  have  had  moments  when 
the  mystery  seemed  on  the  point  of  dis- 
closure, when,  in  one  sense,  it  was  disclosed. 
We  cannot  remember  it  afterwards,  still 
less  can  we  express  it  even  to  ourselves; 
we  cannot  do  better  than  say  with  ^Mother 
Juliana,  /  saw  God  in  a  point 

Yet  this  slow  stare  is  only  the  outset  of 


74         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

the  mystical  life;  there  follows  what  is  even 
greater,  the  using  of  what  is  seen  as  a 
means  of  union  with  the  Divine  Character; 
and  here  I  must  confess  even  my  pre- 
sumptuous pen  falters.  If  I  have  taken 
two  hours  over  what  I  have  written,  it 
would  take  me  the  rest  of  my  life  to  set 
down  what  remains  within  even  my  narrow 
horizons.  I  touch  only  with  the  tips  of  my 
fingers  the  mystery  of  what  they  call  the 
Way  of  Union;  I  can  only  picture  it  under 
a  variety  of  images  so  grotesque  that  I  dare 
not  face  their  discussion.  Embracing  a 
globe,  drinking  from  a  cup,  plunging  into 
a  sea,  the  effort  of  relaxing  effort,  consum- 
mating a  marriage  —  all  these  odd  phrases 
have  been  employed  by  saints,  and  it  is  best 
to  leave  it  at  that.  I  can  only  discern 
figures  moving  on  mountains  against  the 
sky,  to  whom,  I  know,  these  phrases  are 
not  nonsense,  figures  whom  I  envy  more 
than  I  can  describe,  to  whom  a  sense  has 
been  given  which  transcends  that  of  the 
artist  as  the  artist's  that  of  the  mathema- 
tician, who  have  looked  so  long  that  at  last 


THE   MYSTICAL  SENSE         75 

they  have  begun  to  move  in  curious  spas- 
modic efforts  as  hidicrous  as  those  of  a 
marionette,  who  stand  at  such  an  angle 
that  they  see  Hghts  and  curves  invisible 
to  other  men  (as  one  may  bend  his  head 
to  catch  the  purple  of  a  shot  silk),  and 
who  have  in  some  fashion  made  the  colour 
their  own. 

I  had  better  stop,  and  go  and  look  at  my 
tree  again.  After  all,  the  mystical  sense  is 
not  an  essential,  though  its  cultivation  may 
be  a  duty.  God  has  not  left  us  to  depend 
upon  what  we  can  find  out  for  ourselves,  if 
what  Catholics  say  is  true.  He  has  given 
us,  it  seems  (because  I  suppose  we  were  so 
stupid  and  wilful),  a  more  plainly  written 
book,  in  which  we  may  read  His  Character; 
and  He  has  lived  Himself  the  life  that  He 
would  have  us  live.  That  is  enough  for 
simple  folk  like  me:  I  cannot  improve  upon 
the  Gospel.  And  yet  sometimes  I  cannot 
help  envying  those  who  can  verify  what 
they  have  been  told;  to  whom  Calvary  is 
not  an  incident,  but  a  continuous  state,  as 


76         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

plain  to  their  eyes  as  the  colour  of  a  chest- 
nut tree ;  who  can  look  upon  lilies  and  con- 
sider them  to  some  purpose;  who  stand 
always  in  a  hush  of  silence  more  articulate 
than  the  sound  of  words.  .  .  . 


HOLY    WEEK 


April,  1904. 


It  is  Easter  morning  as  I  write  this  in  my 
garden,  and  attempt  to  sum  up  my  impres- 
sions of  last  week.  Yet  I  know  even  as  I 
begin  that  it  is  useless.  What  I  can  write 
down  bears  about  as  much  relation  to  what 
I  experienced  as  a  child's  scratching  on  a 
slate  to,  let  us  say,  the  sunrise  burning  over 
the  sea.  However,  I  cannot  rest  till  I  have 
made  my  scratches,  and  tried  to  embody  in 
words  what  even  my  soul  itself  could  only 
dimly  apprehend.  Even  as  I  put  down 
these  words  I  am  aware  that  the  light  is 
coarsening.  And  it  is  really  a  serious  re- 
flection that  even  all  that  my  stupid  dul- 
ness  could  perceive  is  only  as  a  shadow  of 
a  shadow  of  what  the  Church  was  trying 
to  show^  me. 


77 


78         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

Tenebrae 
Well,  I  have  been  witnessing  a  four  days' 
drama  of  the  most  appalling  kind.  To  be 
plain  with  myself,  it  has  been  nothing  else 
than  the  tragedy  of  the  murder  of  God ;  and 
that  interwrought  with  the  most  bewildering 
pangs  and  motives,  and  overshot  with  gleams 
of  love  and  pity.  All  kinds  of  personages 
have  been  moving  on  the  stage,  clever, 
shallow  souls,  lovers,  foes,  simple,  passion- 
ate, stupid,  fiery-eyed,  self-seeking,  imper- 
ceptive  —  why  pile  up  epithets  ?  —  in  short, 
the  entire  human  race.  And  in  the  midst 
God  has  been  walking,  dumb,  with  gestures, 
lifting  His  Hands  in  useless  explanation,  in 
appeal,  in  agony,  dropping  them  in  despair. 
And  beneath  the  stage,  like  a  Greek  chorus, 
have  crowded  the  saints  and  sages  of  all 
time,  chanting  comment  and  interpretation, 
running  now  on  to  the  higher  platform,  now 
abased  in  the  dust  twisting  like  worms,  now 
turning  to  cry  to  me,  gesticulating  what  I 
was  too  dull  to  understand.  Or  it  has  been 
a  shadow-show,  with  liturgy  for  the  sheet, 
and  the  Person  of  God  for  the  light:  great 


HOLY  ^VEEK  79 

confused  movements  have  come  and  gone; 
and,  from  behind,  groaning  and  singing, 
death-screams  and  hiughtor,  have  continu- 
ally sounded.  And  at  the  end  the  great 
Mother  of  us  all  has  turned  to  me,  smiling 
and  weeping.  "Well,"  she  has  said  to  me, 
"you  have  seen  the  shadow  of  the  shadow 
of  truth  —  a  little  coarse  daub  of  reality. 
What  have  you  to  say  ?  .  .  .  Have  you  any- 
thing to  say?  .  .  .  What  do  you  think  of 
yourself  and  God  now?" 

Where,  then,  can  I  begin  ?  I  suppose 
with  Tenebrae. 

Each  evening,  for  three  nights,  we  as- 
sembled towards  dusk,  taking  our  seats  in 
the  echoing  stone  church,  and  waited,  look- 
ing up  at  the  cold  altar  and  the  stone-floored 
sanctuary.  There  were  a  few  lights  here 
and  there,  enough  to  read  by,  and  on  the 
right  stood  a  peak  of  burning  candles. 
There  came  a  sound  of  footsteps,  and 
through  the  gloom  came  two  priests  walk- 
ing slowly,  followed  by  a  troop  of  men  and 
boys;  presently  they  were  in  their  places, 


80         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

and   after   a  silence,   simple   as   a   country 
show  began  the  play. 

Now,  I  do  not  propose  to  talk  liturgi- 
cally,  but  merely  to  describe  my  general 
impressions. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  each  evening, 
deepening  in  power  and  pathos  each  time, 
a  kind  of  gigantic  Figure  grew  upon  the 
dark  air.  I  scarcely  know  who  He  was: 
sometimes  it  was  simply  He  whom  we  call 
Jesus  Christ.  Yes,  I  think  it  was  He, 
really,  all  the  while;  but  it  was  not  as  I  had 
always  pictured  Him  to  myself,  and  as  the 
plain  Gospel  presents  Him.  It  was  much 
more  than  that.  I  saw  emotions,  agonies, 
and  smiles,  that  I  had  not  suspected. 
Strange  persons,  curious  old  prophets,  veiled 
shadows,  seemed  to  hold  up  lanterns  to 
light  Him,  and  to  voice  what  He  left  unsaid. 
Evening  by  evening  He  stood  there,  moved 
from  side  to  side,  groaned,  yearned,  ex- 
postulated, explained,  and  suffered;  "Save 
me,  O  God!"  He  moaned;  **the  waters 
are  come  in  even  to  my  soul.  ...  I  am 


IIOT.Y   WEEK  81 

become  a  stranger  to  my  bretlireii  .  .  . 
God,  help  me!  Lord,  delay  not!  .  .  .  Leave 
me  not!  ..."  And  when  words  failed  Ilim, 
His  comforters  who  could  not  help  Him, 
took  up  His  lamentation;  telling  us  that 
His  travail  was  the  travail  of  the  world, 
and  pointing  us  to  the  City  of  God  itself, 
lying  desolate  through  His  woe.  Yes,  it 
was  Jesus  Christ;  but  I  have  never  before 
understood  what  it  was  that  He  meant 
when  He  named  Himself  Son  of  Man. 

For  it  was  all  mankind  that  stood  there 
in  His  Person  —  He  Himself  became  sin 
and  ruin  Incarnate,  He  was  Penitent  as  well 
as  Priest,  Sinner  as  well  as  Saviour,  a  worm 
and  no  man,  as  well  as  Eternal  God.  For  an 
hour  or  two  each  evening  I  saw  heaven  and 
earth  as  one  thing  —  glory  and  shame 
rushed  together  into  one  whirling  core  of 
agony:  despair  and  hope,  faith  and  dark- 
ness, love  and  hate,  fused  before  my  eyes. 
The  infinite  expressed  itself  finitely,  and  the 
finite  soared  into  the  illimitable  —  and  the 
pity  of  all  was  that  the  supreme  horror  was 
enacted    in    a    Heart    like    my    own.      The 


82         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Word  became  Flesh.  The  infinite  sea  was 
compressed  into  the  compass  of  a  single 
soul. 

Well,  well;  it  is  of  no  use  to  write  like 
this!  But  does  no  one  understand,  any 
more?  .  .   . 

What  deepened  the  terror  was  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  candles.  One  by  one  the  stars 
went  out,  with  frightful  deliberation,  and 
each  was  like  the  putting  out  of  an  eye,  or 
the  slow  turn  of  a  rack.  My  heart  cried 
out  for  a  blaze  of  light,  protesting  against 
dying  in  the  dark;  but  one  by  one,  with 
long  pauses  they  went  out.  (Did  that  man 
in  the  surplice,  I  wonder,  know  what  he 
was  doing  .^)  There  was  only  one  left 
after  a  while;  but  of  that  I  shall  speak 
presently. 

Now  at  times  there  was  a  break  in  that 
monotonous  recital  of  pain.  One  at  a 
lectern  chanted  out  a  comment  in  a  kind  of 
wailing  melody  that  rose  and  fell,  as  a  dying 
man  who  has  been  long  silent  might  croon 
out  a  tune,  very  slowly,  note  by  note,  up 
and   down;   and,    then,    as    if   the   tension 


HOLY   WEEK  83 

would  break  our  hearts  altogether,  there 
came  a  gush  of  lamentable  harmony,  that 
was  like  the  sudden  smell  of  autumn  and 
the  ruddy  gleam  of  sunset,  penetrating  a 
silent  death-chamber. 

"O  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem!"  sane:  the 
boys,  "turn  to  the  Lord  thy  God."  That 
was  all. 

Well,  well;  even  at  this  distance  of  time, 
writing  as  I  am  in  the  sunlit  glory  of  Easter 
morning,  it  seems  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it. 
But  worse  was  to  come. 

We  were  stilled  at  last,  all  of  us,  I  think 
into  a  kind  of  resignation.  It  seemed  use- 
less to  strive.  We  were  driven  down  into 
the  lowest  depth,  and  lay  there  passive  and 
helpless,  as  Jesus  turned  His  great  eyes 
upon  us  out  of  His  drawn,  sunken  Face,  lit 
only  by  a  single  flame.  There  was  no  more 
to  be  said.  He  was  there,  and  we  could  not 
help  Him.  God  said  it  was  to  be  so.  And 
then  the  cruelty  waxed  tenfold  more  poig- 
nant; for,  no  sooner  had  we  come  to  this, 
and   yielded   to  the   darkness   and   misery. 


84         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

than  far  above  us,  out  of  sunlight,  our  great 
Mother  Ufted  up  her  voice  and  sang  like 
the  Cherubim  — 

"Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel, 
for  He  hath  visited  and  redeemed  His 
people." 

I  think  I  could  have  borne  anything  but 
that.  If  I  had  but  been  left  alone,  there 
was  nothing  that  I  could  not  suffer  now; 
but  that  happy  song  was  as  a  sword  for 
pain.  Is  it  anything  for  wonder  that  even 
as  I  write  these  words,  my  eyes  are  blinded 
again  with  tears  ?  Oh,  the  cruelty  of  let- 
ting the  light  into  that  pit!  Yet  she  did 
so,  flooding  us  with  sorrow  upon  sorrow, 
and  shame  upon  shame;  and  Jesus  Him- 
self sobbed,  there,  before  my  eyes,  with 
the  exquisite  torment.  Oh!  could  she  not 
leave  us  with  the  tears  of  Jeremias,  and  the 
soft  moaning  of  David  —  but  that  she  must 
mock  and  pierce  us  with  joy?  Yet  she 
sang  on  and  on  .  .  . 

"And  thou,  child,  shalt  be  called  the 
Prophet  of  the  Highest.  .  .  .  To  give  knowl- 
edge   of    salvation    unto    His    people.  .  .  . 


HOLY  ^VEEK  85 

Througli  the  tender  mercy  of  our  God, 
whereby  the  dayspring  from  on  high  liath 
visited  us:  To  give  Hght  to  them  that  sit 
in  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death;  to 
guide  our  feet  into  the  way  of  peace." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence;  and  a  voice 
cried  savagely  — 

"But  the  traitor  gave  them  a  sign,  say- 
ing: 'Whom  I  shall  kiss  is  He,  hold  Him.'" 

And  the  second  night  — 

"They  placed  above  His  Head  His  cause 
written,  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  King  of  the 
Jews." 

And  the  third  night  — 

"Women  sitting  at  the  selpulchre  la- 
mented, weeping  for  the  Lord." 

Ah!  we  w^ere  back  again  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pit,  plunged  deep,  and  hope  had  died 
again,  and  Heaven  was  closed,  and  Jesus 
stared  at  us,  streaked  with  blood,  expres- 
sionless, blank,  and  white-faced,  rigid  and 
all  but  dead;  and  one  wailing  voice  be- 
gan— 

"Christ  was  made  obedient  for  us  unto 
death,  ..."  and  again  silence. 


86         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Then  a  quick,  hurried  muttering  began, 
as  of  men  in  desperate  fear  at  the  brink  of 
death,  hastily,  hopelessly,  as  if  repeating 
some  charm  in  despair,  on  one  low,  babbling 
note. 

*'Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  God,  after 
thy  great  goodness,"  and  so  through  the 
psalm.  Then  I  saw  what  I  had  not  noticed, 
and  that  was  that  the  church  was  com- 
pletely dark.  There  was  not  a  glimmer 
left.  I  could  see  the  pale  line  of  surplices 
on  either  side  of  the  wide  choir,  a  great 
pillar  grey  against  the  dusk  and  rising  into 
complete  darkness;  the  solemn  pallor  of 
the  vaulting.  Then,  as  a  voice  began  from 
the  dark  figure  kneeling  on  the  bare  steps, 
a  flicker  shone  for  an  instant  in  the  apse, 
and  a  monstrous  shadow  moved  across  it. 
Again  silence  and  complete  darkness,  then 
a  crash  that  shook  my  heart  and  tore  a 
gasp  from  my  lips,  echoing  round  and 
round  like  the  roar  of  doom;  and  in  the 
stillness  that  followed  a  man  came  out  from 
behind  the  altar,  carrying  a  single  candle. 
That  was  the  end  —  darkness,  and  one  star. 


HOLY   WEEK  87 

11 

Of  the  Maundy  Mass,  the  Sepulchre,  and 
the  bloodless  sacrifice  of  Good  Friday,  it 
is  even  harder  to  write;  for  instead  of  one 
profound  emotion  there  are  a  thousand; 
and  1  could  not  follow  them.  It  was  as 
a  hand  dashed  across  a  jubilant  harp,  and 
of  the  incoherent  murmur  there  may  be  a 
hundred  meanings.  Is  it  in  the  sombre 
bass,  or  the  mellow  mid  notes,  or  the  ecstatic 
trebles  that  the  secret  Hes  ? 

First,  then,  the  Maundy  Mass.  The 
altar  is  ablaze  with  lights  and  gold  and 
flowers,  and  from  a  side  chapel  comes  the 
glow  of  the  expectant  tomb.  Three  priests 
are  there,  gorgeous  and  brilliant;  the  Mass 
begins  as  usual,  quietly  splendid;  and,  at 
the  intonation  of  the  Gloria  there  is  an 
event,  to  me,  at  any  rate,  unexpected, 
which  floods  the  whole  soul  with  a  passion 
that  may  rise  from  either  torment  or  bliss. 
For,  as  the  priest's  voice  ends,  there  is  a 
crashing  chord  from  the  great  organ,  and 


88         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

a  tumult  of  bells;  and  as  if  a  whole  heaven 
of  sound  had  split,  the  mad  riot  pours  on, 
moment  after  moment.  The  chords  melt, 
change,  wax  in  volume;  the  air  is  full  of 
the  throbbing  bass  of  the  bourdon,  the 
windy  bellowing  of  the  tower,  and  the 
shrill  silver  tinkle  of  the  tiny  bells  gathered 
from  every  altar  in  the  church,  to  greet 
the  new-born  Eucharist  —  on  and  on  till 
the  heart  is  torn  and  vibrating,  and  the 
brain  exalted  with  music:  the  three  priests 
sign  themselves  with  the  Cross,  and  there 
is  silence. 

When  the  Mass  is  over,  sung  throughout 
unaccompanied,  with  a  kind  of  quiet  joy 
the  procession  is  formed,  and  the  Body  of 
the  Lord  is  borne,  wafted  along  on  Pange 
Lingua,  to  the  waiting  sepulchre,  where 
It  shall  lie  for  a  day  and  a  night.  The 
walls  are  decked  with  flowers,  and  sheaves 
of  candles  stand  on  either  side.  There  it  is 
laid  in  solemn  joy,  censed,  and  left. 

Yet  the  whole  affair  is  not  what  it  seems. 
It  has  an  air  of  sorrow  beneath  the  beauty, 
that  rises  like  the  indefinable  scent  of  death 


HOLY  \vp:ek  so 

from  a  coffin  piled  high  with  flowers  and 
walled  with  fights.  Oh,  yes!  the  vest- 
ments are  white  and  gohl,  the  organ  peals, 
the  candles  flame;  but  it  is  no  good.  It 
is  desperately  hard  to  keep  up  the  exulta- 
tion. The  mind  assents,  as  always,  to  the 
liturgical  instinct  that  rejoices  over  the 
inauguration  of  the  marriage-supper  of 
the  Lamb,  but  the  heart  remembers  that 
the  Meat  and  Wine  upon  the  board  have 
been  made  possible  only  by  the  death  of 
the  Lamb  whom  we  love.  "Eat  and 
drink,"  cries  Wisdom,  "see  the  wine  that 
I  have  mingled  and  the  bread  that  I  break 
to  you.  Lift  up  your  hearts  and  sing." 
But  as  we  watch  her,  her  eyes  are  full  of 
secret  pain,  and  on  her  lips  a  grievous 
paleness. 

It  is  indeed  like  that  First  Supper  of 
w^hich  the  Gospel  tells.  "Now  is  the  Son 
of  Man  glorified,"  cries  Jesus,  with  shining 
eyes  and  broken  Heart,  "and  God  is 
glorified  in  Him.  ..."  "And  when  they 
had  sung  an  hymn  they  went  forth  to  the 
mount   of   Olives."     Singing   and    praising 


90         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

they  went  out,  desperately  feigning  that 
all  was  well;  they  looked  upon  the  Golden 
Vine  in  the  Temple  courts  in  the  glory  of 
the  paschal  moon.  .  .  .  And  there  followed 
the  Agony  and  the  Sweat  of  Blood. 

I  looked  into  the  church  again  that  after- 
noon towards  sunset,  and  I  knew  that  I  was 
right.  There  was  the  chapelle  ardente  be- 
fore me,  one  avenue  of  white  flowers  and 
yellow  flames,  heavy  and  redolent,  and  in 
the  midst,  enthroned,  lay  Jesus  Christ  in 
state;  not  as  when  He  beams  through  the 
tabernacle  door  instinct  with  life,  but  with 
an  aspect  of  dreadful  death.  His  guards 
were  two  children,  come  in  from  the  school 
next  door,  with  white  veils  on  their  heads; 
and,  as  I  knelt  and  looked,  they  presently 
stood  and  stretched  out  their  arms  cross- 
wise, to  remember  Him  better.  So  they 
stood,  minute  after  minute,  till  the  slender 
arms  drooped  and  trembled  and  rose  again 
resolutely,  striving  to  explain  in  gesture 
their  pity  and  love.  "Come,  then,  at  Thy 
Will,  heavenly  Physician,"  cried  Richard 
the  hermit  six  centuries  ago,  "kindle  in  my 


HOLY   WEEK  91 

heart  a  spark  of  Thy  passion,  of  love  and  of 
pity,  to  quicken  it  with." 

Yet  Jesus  was  not  dead  yet.  But  to 
this  Church  wlio  Hves  in  eternity,  who  still 
greets  Mary  as  she  kneels  in  Nazareth,  and 
views  the  Judge  coming  even  now  upon  the 
clouds  of  heaven  —  this  Church  to  whom 
time  is  nothing,  to  whom  space  is  nothing 
—  nothing  more  than  imagined  lines  on 
the  globe  of  eternity  —  since  she  adores 
the  Body  of  God  at  one  moment  in  ten  thou- 
sand places  —  to  this  Church  all  things  are 
possible.  She  buries  her  Lord  on  Thursday 
and  raises  Him  on  Friday,  crucifies  Him 
ten  minutes  later,  and  sings  her  Easter 
Mass  while  He  yet  lies  in  the  tomb.  It 
is  all  one  to  her  —  Calvary,  Bethlehem, 
Heaven  — for  she  ''sees  God  in  a  point" 

On  Friday,  then,  the  climax  comes,  and 
it  is  as  simple  as  the  death  of  a  child. 

First,  then,  I  saw  three  priests  in  black 
and  white  approach  the  altar.  There  was 
some  reading  from  a  book,  a  collect  or  two, 
the  singing  of  the  Passion  —  a  long  song  of 


92         PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

mournful  recitative  by  various  voices;  a 
number  of  prayers.  The  peace  and  sta- 
bility of  the  Church,  a  blessing  on  Christ's 
Vicar,  the  Bishop  of  the  diocese,  on  all 
clerks,  catechumens,  and  the  world,  com- 
fort for  mourners,  conversion  for  heretics, 
Jews,  and  heathens  —  this  was  what  was 
asked  as  we  stood  on  Golgotha.  Then 
followed  the  adoration  of  the  Cross. 

How  can  I  describe  that,  except  by  say- 
ing that  it  was  the  simplest  thing  I  have 
ever  seen,  as  clear  and  natural  as  a  pool 
of  water,  and  yet  as  bitter  as  brine  ?  The 
crucifix,  laid  as  if  for  tenderness'  sake  on 
a  soft  cushion,  is  approached  by  all  who 
are  present.  I,  too,  went  up  —  I,  a  heretic 
and  outcast,  for  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
save  sinners  —  and  I  knelt  there,  trembling, 
between  two  boys  who  seemed  to  tend  that 
wounded  Figure,  wiping  His  feet  softly 
after  each  kiss.  And  I  kissed  the  smooth 
ivory,  too,  above  the  nail  .  .  .  and  He  did 
not  strike  me! 

One  thing,  too,  I  saw:  an  old  woman 
came  up  the  stones  on  her  knees,  moaning 


HOLY   WEEK  93 

and  muttering,  wrapped  in  a  shawl;  and 
she  kissed  Ilim,  as  a  mother  might,  on  His 
pierced  feet.  His  bruised  knees.  His  wounded 
side.  .  .  .  My  God!  how  beautiful  that  was! 
And  all  the  while  there  pealed  the  reproaches. 

"Oh!  My  people,  what  have  I  done  to 
thee  ?  In  what  have  I  grieved  thee  ?  Tell 
me!  Tell  me!  I  brought  thee  out  of 
Egypt:  and  thou  hast  prepared  a  cross 
for  thy  Saviour." 

Then  followed  a  roar  of  Greek,  strange 
and  sonorous: 

Agios  O  Theos  .  .  .  Agios  ischyros  .  .  .  Agios  athaiiatos 
eleeson  imas. 

So,  as  in  a  delirium  a  man  talks  in  a  long- 
forgotten  tongue,  now,  when  her  heart  is 
rent,  the  Catholic  Church  drops  twenty 
centuries  without  an  effort,  and  speaks  as 
she  spoke  underground  in  Rome,  and  in 
Paul's  hired  house,  and  in  Crete  and  Alex- 
andria and  Jerusalem. 

**I  planted  thee.  My  lovely  vineyard," 
moaned  the  choir,  "and  thou  hast  been 
bitter  to  Me.  With  vinegar  thou  didst 
quench  My  thirst,  and  with  a  lance  didst 


94         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

pierce  the  Side  of  thy  Saviour.  ...  I 
scourged  Egypt  for  thee;  and  thou  hast 
given  Me  to  scourging.  ...  I  drowned 
Pharaoh  for  thy  sake,  and  thou  hast  be- 
trayed Me  to  the  priests.  ...  I  opened  a 
way  for  thee  through  the  Red  Sea,  and 
with  a  lance  thou  hast  opened  My  side.  .  .  . 
I  fed  thee  with  manna  in  the  wilderness, 
and  thou  hast  wounded  Me  with  blows 
and  scourgings.  ...  I  gave  thee  whole- 
some water  from  the  rock,  and  thou  hast 
given  Me  gall  and  vinegar.  ...  I  gave 
to  thee  a  royal  sceptre,  and  thou  hast 
crowned  Me  with  thorns.  .  .  .  Oh!  My 
people,  what  have  I  done  to  thee,  that  thou 
dost  use  Me  so.^" 

Then  we  went  all  together  to  the  tomb, 
and  brought  out  His  very  Body,  shouting 
as  we  went  in  terrible  glee  how  the  banners 
of  the  King  go  forth,  glorifying  the  Cross 
that  we  made  for  Him  and  on  which  He 
hangs,  praising  the  Fount  of  Salvation. 
We  laid  It  upon  the  altar,  censed  It  in 
silence,  and  so  moved  on  to  the  end,  in 
incoherent  haste. 


IIOT.Y   WEEK  95 

There  is  no  sacrifice  on  this  day,  for  all 
is  sacrifice.  There  is  no  need  for  the  Holy 
Ghost  to  come  down,  to  make  the  Body  of 
the  Son,  and  touch  tlie  Father's  Heart,  for 
to-day  all  the  world  is  Calvary.  Yet  frag- 
ments of  the  Mass  are  uttered  as  by  a 
dreaming  priest.  The  Paternoster  is  sung; 
the  prayers  are  said,  the  Host  is  consumed; 
and,  in  an  instant  all  is  over;  the  black 
clouds  topple  over,  the  gulf  is  filled,  the 
rending  rocks  are  still  again ;  and  I  —  I  was 
as  a  man  who  awakes  and  sees  the  sunlight 
in  his  room.  .  .  . 


Holy  Saturday 

*'As  when  a  man  awakes  and  sees  the 
sunlight  in  his  room."  This  is  the  secret 
of  Holy  Saturday. 

Many  years  ago  I  was  in  Italy,  where 
the  air  is  like  water,  and  the  water  like 
wine.  Morning  by  morning  I  awoke  to 
the  crying  of  the  swifts  outside,  drawing 
long  icy  breaths  of  freshness,  seeing  the 
netted  sunshine  shake  on  the  ceiling  from 


96         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

the  jug  of  water  on  the  floor,  hearing  the 
rustle  of  the  leaves  below  my  window. 
There,  in  Italy,  the  morning  struck  the  key 
of  the  day;  the  world  was  alive  there,  and 
as  good  as  God  made  it,  and  everything 
was  in  His  hand.   .  .  . 

Now  on  Holy  Saturday  the  Catholic 
Church  is  in  just  such  a  mood  as  that.  She 
is  as  simple  as  the  sunshine,  as  happy  as 
the  birds,  as  melodious  as  the  rustle  of 
branches.  But  it  is  morning,  not  noon. 
Christ  is  rising,  but  not  yet  in  mid-heaven; 
and  she  springs  from  her  bed  of  sorrows  to 
make  all  ready  for  Him.  He  will  be  here 
presently. 

First,  then,  there  must  be  fire  to  meet 
Him  with,  lights  and  torches,  for  the  garden 
is  yet  in  tender  twilight;  and  there  must 
be  water  to  wash  Him  with,  to  take  clean 
away  the  smell  of  the  tomb,  and  the  aloes, 
and  the  myrrh.  He  being  dead,  dieth  no 
more.  Water  too,  not  vinegar,  for  Him 
to  drink  —  light  again  and  water  through 
which  He  may  be  seen  and  handled  by  her 
blinder  children  —  for  is  He  not  the  Light 


HOLY   WEEK  97 

of  the  World  and  the  Water  of  Life  ?  — 
Hght  and  water  once  more,  that  He  may 
Hghten  those  that  sit  in  darkness  and  satisfy 
those  that  thirst  after  righteousness. 

So  we  went  down  in  the  early  dawn,  all 
together,  the  priests  still  in  purple,  leading 
us  to  where  a  brazier  burned  in  the  porch. 
From  outside  blew  in  the  morning  breeze, 
carts  rattled  over  the  stones,  contemptuous 
strangers  eyed  us  through  the  door.  But 
it  did  not  matter;  we  were  bent  on  great 
affairs. 

First  the  red  coals  were  blessed,  for  is 
not  the  Church  the  Lady-Mistress  of  the 
world  ?  —  all  things  are  hers,  for  she  is 
Christ's  and  Christ  is  God's.  Those  coals 
had  been  lighted  from  a  flint,  for  God's 
Spouse  is  older  than  the  Stone  Age,  as  well 
as  younger  than  yesterday,  God  is  named 
by  her  as  the  Father  of  Lights  —  an  ex- 
quisite title  —  and  begged  to  bless  this  fire 
because  He  made  it  and  loves  it.  It  is 
Brother  Fire  now,  as  that  dear  child  St. 
Francis  called  it.  He  must  not  rage  and 
storm  any  more;  he  must  burn  demurely 


98         PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

in  lamps,  and  if  he  dances  it  must  only  be 
piously  and  on  the  summit  of  a  candlestick. 
Then  five  large  gilded  things  are  blessed 
and  sprinkled  with  the  last  drops  of  holy 
water.  I  whispered  to  a  boy  to  tell  me  what 
they  were  —  for  we  were  all  very  homely 
and  happy  in  the  porch  that  morning  —  and 
he  told  me,  Incense  for  the  Candle. 

Then  the  deacon  took  off  his  purple,  and 
put  on  instead  a  large  white  dalmatic,  stiff 
with  gold.  He  took  into  his  hand  a  pole 
surmounted  by  three  twisted  candles  and 
wreathed  with  flowers,  and  went  through 
into  the  church.  When  I  came  after,  just 
behind  the  others,  he  was  lighting  it  from 
the  new  holy  fire.  Then  he  straightened  it, 
and  there  was  a  flame  like  a  yellow  flower 
perched  on  one  of  the  wicks;  he  knelt,  and 
simultaneously  sang  out  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  — 

Lumen  Christi! 

And  the  choir  roared  — 

"Thanks  be  to  God!" 

Three  times  he  did  that,  raising  his  voice 
a  tone  or  two  at  each  repetition.     He  did 


HOLY   WEEK  00 

not  sing  it  very  well:  but  did  tliat  matter? 
For  we  were  going  even  now  with  Mary 
and  vSalome  tlirougli  tlie  scented  garden; 
virgins  to  meet  tlie  Bridegroom,  lovers  to 
keep  tryst  with  the  Beloved;  and  the  three 
lights  swayed  as  we  went. 

There  was  a  little  going  to  and  fro  at  the 
altar,  as  we  of  the  laity  —  and  I,  not  even 
of  that  —  stumbled  into  our  seats ;  and 
when  I  had  regained  my  composure,  that 
deacon  was  standing  at  a  lectern,  drawing 
a  long  breath,  with  a  little  group  about  him 
attentive  and  eager.  Beyond,  not  a  yard 
away,  stood  the  huge  bronze  candlestick. 

Then  he  began  to  sing.  .   .   . 

It  was  a  sonfj  such  as  none  but  a  Chris- 
tian  could  ever  sing.  It  soared,  dropped, 
quavered,  leapt  again,  laughed,  danced, 
rippled,  sank,  leapt  once  more,  on  and  on, 
untiring  and  undismayed,  like  a  stream 
running  clear  to  the  sea.  Angels,  eartli, 
trumpets.  Mother  Church,  all  nations  and 
all  peoples  sang  in  its  singing.  We,  "dearest 
brothers,"  as  he  named  us  (and  I  a  heretic!), 
were  bidden   to   join  with   him  —  Jiim,  he 


100       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

said  in  charming  parenthesis,  who  was 
quite  unworthy  of  being  numbered  among 
the  Levites,  —  in  imploring  God  Almighty 
and  Merciful,  to  glorify  this  wax-candle 
through  Jesus  Christ  who  lives  and  reigns 
through  all  ages.  We  were  to  lift  up  our 
hearts,  to  thank  God,  because  such  was 
fitting.  It  was  He  who  had  paid  the  debt 
of  Adam,  and  washed  us  in  His  Blood. 
This  is  the  day  and  this  the  night  on  which 
Israel  came  out  of  Egypt,  and  the  pillar  of 
fire  burned  through  the  dark.  This  is 
the  night  of  supremest  grace,  for  Christ 
rose  in  it,  burst  the  bands  of  death,  and 
soared  from  Hell.  O  inestimable  love  of 
charity!  O  most  necessary  sin  of  Adam! 
O  blessed,  blessed  fault  which  brought 
down  such  a  Redeemer!  O  more  than 
blessed  night!  For  this  is  the  night  that 
is  clear  as  the  day.  This  is  the  night  that 
banishes  darkness,  washes  sins,  gives  inno- 
cence to  the  foul,  and  joy  to  the  unhappy 
—  that  puts  hatred  to  flight,  brings  peace 
to  the  birth,  and  all  things  in  subjection  to 
Jesus  Christ! 


HOLY   WEEK  101 

Have  you  ever  heard  such  a  song  as  this  ? 

—  such  a  wealth  of  divine  contradiction, 
deHrious  paradox,  and  chikHike  wisdom  ? 

Presently,    after    fixing    the    five    incense 
grains  into  the  soft  wholesome  wax-candle 

—  (it  was  at  least  twelve  feet  high,  by-the- 
way)  —  he  was  off  again  in  his  song,  be- 
seeching God  this  time  to  receive  this 
evening  sacrifice,  prepared  from  the  labour  of 
bees  by  the  pains  of  Holy  Church.  Then 
he  lit  the  candle,  and  it  was  lifted  to  its 
place  high  above  all  heads,  while  he  drew  a 
lesson  or  two  from  its  composition.  Then 
as  boys  dispersed  in  all  directions,  each 
with  a  taper  tipped  with  ho  y  fire,  to  light 
every  lamp  in  the  place,  the  deacon  settled 
down  again  indefatigably  in  his  praises  of 
this  holy  night,  and  in  his  entreaties  that 
God  w^ould  hear  his  singing,  and  see  the 
burning  candle  and  bless  every  one  in  the 
world,  clergymen,  people,  and  Pope.  And 
so  he  ended;  and  I,  in  my  stiff  pew,  smiled 
all  over  my  face  with  sheer  joy  and  love. 

I  thought  a  great  deal  about  it  all  as  I 
sat   down   for   the   next   three   quarters    of 


102       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

an  hour  while  the  interminable  prophecies 
were  read.  I  had  meant  to  attend  to  them, 
but  I  was  far  too  much  moved.  Of  course 
I  had  read  about  these  ceremonies,  but  I 
had  never  seen  them  before,  nor  heard  that 
amazing  song.  ...  I  wonder  if  any  one 
will  think  me  irreverent  in  my  thoughts. 
They  will  be  wrong  if  they  do,  for  I  am 
as  sure  as  I  can  be,  that  this  is  more  or  less 
what  the  Catholic  Church  meant  me  to 
think.  She  wished  me  to  be  as  happy  as 
a  child  —  happy  because  Jesus  Christ  was 
risen;  and  because  she  was  happy.  .  .  . 
Well,  well;  I  must  get  on. 

The  blessing  of  the  water  was  as  joyous 
as  the  blessing  of  the  fire. 

We  all  went  down  to  the  font,  singing 
that,  as  the  hunted  hart  pants  after  water- 
brooks,  so  panted  our  souls  after  God.  We 
were  thirsty  for  God,  we  said,  for  tears  had 
been  our  only  drink.  Then  we  came  to  the 
baptistery,  and  there  was  that  deep,  cool, 
dusky  pool  of  water  shot  through  with  one 
clear  sunbeam. 

Here  again  God  was  prayed  to  bless  the 


HOLY  WEEK  10.'5 

sweetest  of  His  elements  —  the  water  that 
washes  souls  —  the  water  on  which  His 
Spirit  moved  —  and  to  open  a  river  of 
salvation  to  all  that  He  has  made.  All  evil 
things  were  to  leave  this  cool,  innocent 
creature;  they  were  not  to  interfere  with 
God  Almighty's  plans.  And  then,  as  if 
His  Spirit  indeed  had  given  it  life,  the 
priest  turned  to  that  quiet  pool  and  spoke 
to  it  as  to  a  man. 

"Yes:  it  is  thee  I  bless,  thou  creature 
of  water,  thee  whom  God  once  set  apart 
from  dull  earth;  thee,  who  dost  flow  to  us 
straight  from  Paradise  in  four  streams; 
thee,  who  quenched  Israel's  thirst  in  Arabia. 
Yes;  I  bless  thee,  thou  dear  water,  once 
turned  into  wine  by  Jesus  Christ.  He 
walked  on  thee  with  His  blessed  feet;  He 
was  baptized  with  thee  by  John ;  He  poured 
thee  from  His  Side;  He  sent  thee  out  into 
all  the  world  to  wash  His  children's  sins 
away. 

"Then  let  God  bless  this  creature,  and 
send  down  His  Holy  Spirit  —  like  —  this  — 
candle  —  into  —  it ! 


I  ?> 


104       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

There  followed  pourings  of  oil,  —  oil 
which,  after  all,  is  but  water  transmuted  by 
divine  power  in  the  heart  of  the  olive  tree. 
And  so  presently  we  were  back  again,  sing- 
ing the  Litany  of  the  Saints  with  all  our 
hearts,  and  the  priests,  for  the  last  time, 
lay  flat  upon  their  faces  like  dead  corpses 
before  the  altar.  .  .  . 

I  cannot  go  on.  Is  it  not  too  good  to 
be  true.^  And  I  have  no  part  in  it,  any- 
how. I  was  an  intruder  upon  these  secrets 
—  for  I  am  a  heretic. 

Or  was  I  not  rather  like  some  child  peer- 
ing through  the  bars  of  a  palace-garden .? 
Within,  royalty  goes  to  and  fro,  music 
sounds,  banners  wave,  bewildering  glory 
moves  up  and  down.  But  how  happy  it 
made  me!  And  at  least  I  have  this  en- 
couragement, that  though  I  may  not  yet 
receive  the  children's  Bread  —  yet  fire  and 
water  are  the  common  heritage  of  all.  God 
who  has  made  the  sun  and  the  sea,  who 
shines  and  rains  upon  just  and  unjust  alike, 
will  not  be  angry  with  me  because  I  loved  to 


HOLY  ^VEEK  105 

see  how  He  can  deal  with  phiin  thinf^s,  how 
He  can  make  water  holy  as  well  as  beautiful, 
and  fire  to  lighten  souls  as  well  as  eyes.    .  .  . 

Ah!  there  comes  the  crash  of  bells  once 
more,  the  roar  of  the  organ,  as  the  white 
priests  bow  before  the  flaming  altar:  and 
there  is  no  tragic  silence  to  follow  as  on 
Thursday.     All  is  splendour  now.   .   .  . 

Fire  is  holy  .  .  .  Water  is  clean.  .  .  . 

Christ  is  risen.   .   .  . 

God  bless  us  all! 


ON  THE  DANCE  AS  A  RELIGIOUS 

EXERCISE 

June,  1904. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  while  the  impending 
catastrophe  in  Russia  excites  wide  interest, 
the  deposition  of  at  least  one  of  the  arts  from 
her  throne  is  wholly  unrecognized  by  the 
majority  of  those  who  form  what  are  called 
the  civilized  nations  of  the  world.  Origi- 
nally both  dancing  and  acting  had  their 
representatives  upon  Olympus;  now  Mel- 
pomene and  her  sisters  have  come  to  dwell 
in  scarcely  even  a  genteel  retirement  in 
such  places  as  Leicester  Square  and  Drury 
Lane;  but  Olympus  knows  them  no  more. 
This,  possibly,  is  an  overstatement  of 
fact,  but  it  is  an  understatement  of  theory; 
for  in  more  than  one  pulpit  with  which  I  am 
acquainted  the  Muse  of  Make-Believe  pre- 
sents   a    punctual    appearance    on    Sunday 

106 


TUK   RELir.TOT^S   DANCE       107 

evenings;  yet  in  theory  she  is  supposed  to 
be  somebody  else;  she  rants  incognita  in 
surplice  and  coloured  stole.  Dancing,  too, 
with  an  exception  which  I  shall  state  pres- 
ently, not  only  is  deposed  from  her  religious 
throne  —  for  an  Englishman  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  count  such  benighted  places  as 
Seville  on  Corpus  Christi  —  but  the  children 
of  those  who  once  venerated  her  now  are 
astounded  at  the  profane  follies  of  their 
fathers,  and  consider  that  God  Almighty 
cannot  but  be  insulted  by  the  pious  pran- 
cings  of  the  Hottentot. 

I  said,  with  one  exception;  and  it  is  that 
of  which  I  wish  to  treat,  for  it  is  that  which 
has  suggested  to  me  the  subject  of  this 
paper. 

I  confess  that  I  am  not  one  of  those 
persons  who  think  that  it  is  an  evidence  of 
their  own  spiritual  superiority  to  misbehave 
during  the  worship  of  other  people.  The 
Baedeker  gentlemen  and  ladies  —  for  I  am 
sure  that  is  what  they  wish  to  be  called  — 
who  stare  and  talk  in  the  churches  of  Italy 
and  France,  and  audibly  contrast  the  pos- 


108       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

sibly  ill-shaven  priest  at  the  altar  with  their 
cultivated  vicar  at  home,  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  the  former  —  these  people  rouse  in 
me  no  spirit  of  emulation.  Possibly,  my 
own  eleven  o'clock  Morning  Prayer,  Litany, 
Ante-Communion  and  Sermon,  which  I 
occasionally  attend  in  the  country,  may  be 
infinitely  more  pleasing  to  my  Maker  than 
the  curious  series  of  actions  which  can  be 
witnessed  in  such  Catholic  churches;  yet 
for  all  that  I  am  not  certain  that  the  latter 
is  nothing  better  than  a  piece  of  insolence, 
and  1  conceive  it  to  be  more  proper  to  stand 
still  than  to  walk  about,  to  hold  my  tongue 
than  to  engage  in  conversation. 

It  was  during  High  Mass,  then,  not  in 
France  but  in  England,  that  the  thought 
first  came  into  my  mind  that  perhaps  here 
was  a  survival  of  the  ancient  religious 
dance  —  that  stately,  magnificent  series  of 
slow  movements  which  surely  may  express 
devotion  of  the  most  solemn  and  reverent 
kind,  as  well  as  can  the  colour  of  vest- 
ment or  sanctuary,  or  the  sounds  of 
melody. 


THE   RELIGIOUS   DANCE       109 

I  am  aware  that  some  writers  on  cere- 
monial declare  that  movements  and  postures 
are  nothing  more  than  such  as  arise  from 
the  necessity  of  going  from  one  place  to 
another,  and  of  standing  still;  and  that  each 
such  movement  and  posture  must  find  its 
justification  in  its  utility;  it  is  for  this  rea- 
son that  they  condemn  such  actions  as  the 
Elevation  of  the  Alms-dish  so  frequently 
witnessed  in  our  pure  Protestant  devotions, 
declaring  that  it  signifies  nothing  more 
than  the  foolishness  of  the  man  who  per- 
forms the  ceremony. 

But  I  must  confess  that  I  think  the 
theory,  so  stated,  somewhat  misleading. 
No  doubt  at  the  beginning  it  was  as  they 
say.  The  primitive  clergyman  who  knocked 
upon  his  breast  did  so  because  it  was  a 
natural  action  for  a  gesture-loving  South- 
erner who  wished  to  express  his  sorrow;  the 
unlettered  deacon  who  requested  a  blessing 
before  reading  the  Gospel  possibly  desired 
it  to  safeguard  him  in  the  face  of  the  dark- 
ness of  the  catacombs  and  his  own  imperfect 
education;  even  the  Bishop  who  put  on  his 


110       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

mitre  may  have  done  so  for  fear  of  a 
draught.  All  that  I  maintain  is  that  these 
things  are  neither  natural  nor  necessary 
in  modern  well-lighted,  well-ventilated 
churches  for  clerics,  who  are  sufficiently 
educated  not  to  stumble  over  the  Latin, 
and  sufficiently  self-restrained  to  repent  of 
their  sins  without  striking  themselves  in 
public.  Yet  these  actions  and  others  like 
them  are  not  only  deliberately  practised 
but  minutely  regulated  in  the  rubrics  of  the 
most  divinely  human  Institution  on  earth; 
and  it  is  surely  far  more  illuminating  to  see 
in  this  fact  a  sense  that  movement  no  less 
than  language  may  be  the  vehicle  of  inter- 
nal intentions  and  external  worship,  than 
to  dismiss,  with  the  scholars,  the  whole 
matter  as  an  utilitarian  survival. 

I  remember  being  reproved  as  a  boy  for 
indulging  in  gestures.  I  was  told  that  the 
modulations  of  the  voice  were  sufficient  for 
any  emotions  proper  to  my  age  and  condi- 
tion; and  that  gesticulation  was  an  evidence 
of  barbaric  impulse.  I  resented  the  rebuke 
at  the  time,  and  I  resent  it  still;  it  appears 


THE   RELIGIOUS   DANCE       111 

to  me  singularly  unwarranted.  We  have  no 
more  right  to  condemn  the  language  of 
the  hands  and  arms  than  the  lanfjuaore  of 
the  tongue.  We  are  furnished  by  our 
Creator  with  all  these  members;  we  desire 
to  express  ourselves  as  forcibly  as  possible; 
and  why  in  the  world  shoidd  we  not  do  so 
by  all  the  means  at  our  coniiniind  ? 

It  is  this,  then,  that  the  Catholic  Church 
recognizes  in  her  rubrics. 

Neither  can  she  be  accused  of  inculcating 
formalism.  It  is  exactly  as  formal,  neither 
more  nor  less,  for  one  man  to  knock  upon 
his  breast  when  he  is  far  from  contrite,  as 
for  another  to  declare  himself  an  erring  and 
straying  sheep  when  he  is  congratulating 
himself  on  his  extraordinary  probity  (let  us 
say)  in  his  Saturday  operations  in  the  City. 
Both  gesture  and  word  may  be  formal, 
but  neither  need  be.  Indeed,  the  Catholic 
Church  is  less  liable  to  the  charge  than  the 
Establishment;  for  it  is  perfectly  recognized 
in  the  one  that  the  priest  is  the  representa- 
tive not  only  of  the  congregation,  but  of  the 


112       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

entire  Christian  world,  and  stands  where  he 
does  in  that  capacity  and  in  no  other;  while 
in  the  other  such  views  are  denounced  as 
popish  and  unscriptural  superstitions.  The 
one  has  her  eyes  on  the  whole  body,  the 
other  on  the  individual;  the  one,  roughly 
speaking,  conceives  of  a  religion  as  consist- 
ing in  an  objective  piece  of  honour  done  to 
God,  the  other  as  a  subjective  devotional 
attitude  of  soul. 

Catholic  ceremonial,  then,  I  maintain,  is 
far  more  than  a  way  of  doing  things  — 
it  is  a  thing  in  itself;  and,  again,  roughly 
speaking,  Protestant  ceremonial  is  the 
reverse. 

An  instance  or  two,  perhaps,  may  serve 
to  illustrate  the  difference. 

A  year  or  two  ago  it  was  declared  by  our 
Archbishops  at  Lambeth  that  incense  was 
not  recognized  as  part  of  the  worship  of 
the  Church  of  England;  but  upon  being 
pressed  to  consider  Primitive  Christianity, 
they  conceded  that  a  purely  fumigatory 
use  of  the  censer  would  not  be  considered 
disloyal.    Now,  the  Catholic  does  not  use 


THE   RETJC.TOUS   DANTE       113 

incense  that  he  may  smell  it,  but,  to  employ 
a  straightforward  Scriptural  phrase,  that 
God  may  do  so. 

Lights  u})()u  the  Holy  Table,  again,  in 
the  Chancellor's  phrase,  are  not  permitted 
"except  when  required  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  light."  To  whom  .^  Obviously  to 
the  clergyman,  and  to  no  other;  for  the 
Edwardine  symbolism,  referring  to  the  sig- 
nification of  the  Light  of  the  AYorld,  has 
been  expunged  from  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer:  not  even  the  congregation  is  con- 
sidered. 

Ceremonial,  therefore,  for  the  Protestant 
is  a  way  of  doing  things;  for  the  Catholic 
it  is  an  offering  that  he  makes  to  God  to- 
gether with  incense,  candle-wax,  and  such 
things.  His  movements,  his  bows,  the  car- 
riage of  the  hands,  his  knocking  upon  the 
breast,  his  osculations  —  all,  in  fact,  which 
is  summed  up  by  the  urbane  and  amiable 
Protestant  as  his  "bowings  and  scrapings" 
—  are  not  necessarily  the  expression  of  his 
own  emotion,  nor  of  that  of  the  possibly  dis- 
tracted congregation  which  observes  them 


114       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

—  they  are  neither  more  nor  less  than 
official  actions  done  before  God's  majesty  as 
a  means  of  confessing  what  is  due  to  Him, 
and  obtaining  from  Him  what  is  desired. 

With  this  in  mind,  then,  observe  once 
more  with  me  the  motions  of  those  three 
men  in  green  at  the  foot  of  that  lighted, 
fragrant  altar,  and  see  how  orderly  and 
exquisite  is  the  whole  affair.  It  is  no  less 
than  a  sacred  dance,  and  there  is  hardly 
one  religious  emotion  that  does  not  find 
its  representative  there. 

First,  then,  the  actors  in  this  drama, 
representing,  let  us  say,  a  father  and  his 
two  sons,  are  so  swathed  as  to  present  the 
least  possible  resemblance  to  men.  Their 
humanity,  their  corporal  defects  or  advan- 
tages, the  lines  of  their  bodies,  even  their 
passions,  their  stupidities,  their  brilliancies, 

—  all  are  obliterated  as  far  as  possible  be- 
neath the  stiff  folds  of  an  antique  dress;  for 
they  are  not  there  as  the  Reverend  Smith, 
Jones,  and  Brown,  but,  as  performers  in  a 
stupendous  drama,  figures  in  a  sacerdotal 


THE   RETJCIOUS   DANXE       115 

act  done  primarily  to  God,  and  secondarily 
with  as  little  distraction  as  possible  before 
men.  They  resemble  giant  images  of  which 
the  mechanism  is  studiously  concealed. 

The  movement  begins  with  an  adoration 
reduced  to  the  lowest  minimum  of  a  descent 
on  to  one  knee,  performed,  I  dare  say, 
sometimes  with  the  nonchalance  of  a 
courtier  entering  the  first  ante-room,  but 
not  the  less  significant  on  that  account. 
Then,  after  a  pause.  Contrition  makes  her 
appearance,  bending  as  if  to  deprecate 
wrath,  striking  her  breast  as  if  to  chastise 
the  body.  Then,  ascending,  the  choragus 
kisses  the  place  of  sacrifice;  and  proceeds 
with  a  swaying  movement  to  and  fro, 
accompanied  by  his  partners,  to  offer  in- 
cense. 

This  surely  is  what  we  may  call  the 
"first  figure."  To  and  fro  they  go,  the 
children  linked  to  their  parent  by  a  single 
finger  and  thumb,  to  the  chink  of  chains, 
till  the  altar  is  encompassed  by  smoke; 
and  I  must  confess  that  the  result  of  this 


116       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

on  the  beholder  is  to  put  him  curiously  in 
tune  with  the  spirit  of  worship.  Mystery, 
awe,  expectation,  a  chastened  familiarity, 
a  sense  of  rhythm  and  order  and  seemliness, 
such  as  befits  the  initiated  Christian  in  the 
presence  of  His  Fatherly  Majesty  —  of  all 
these  emotions  I  am  conscious  as  I  look 
from  my  pew  in  the  distant  nave.  God 
remains  God  to  me;  He  is  not  degraded 
in  my  eyes  to  the  proportions  of  "an  im- 
measurable clergyman,"  to  the  fashion  in 
which  I  am  compelled  to  think  of  Him 
when  at  home  I  witness  my  estimable 
Rector  stride  up  the  steps,  as  if  they  be- 
longed to  him,  bury  his  face  and  arms  in 
a  velvet  cushion,  and  proceed  to  deliver 
the  opening  paragraphs  of  the  Communion 
service  with  an  air  of  never  having  seen  it 
before. 

Here,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  still  able 
to  think  of  my  Maker  as  a  Spirit  who, 
since  He  has  descended  in  human  form 
and  has  reassumed  that  nature  to  His 
throne,  must  be  approached  through  actions 
apparent  to  the  senses,  yet  stiffened  by  the 


THE   KKLKilOUS   DANCE       117 

remoteness   of  His   Splendour   into   a  kind 
of  Court  etiquette. 

The  second  figure  begins  by  a  gatliering 
of  the  three  performers  round  the  illumi- 
nated book,  suggesting  to  me  the  inadequacy 
of  a  single  man,  however  highly  consecrated, 
to  approach  his  God.  His  companions, 
like  Aaron  and  Hur,  stand  about  him  and 
help  him  to  utter  the  formula  of  "entering 
in,"  and  the  ninefold  cry  for  mercy  as  the 
glory  becomes  visible  through  the  far- 
distant,  open  door.  The  cluster  breaks, 
for  order  must  be  observed,  and  reassured 
the  three  wheel  about  and  come  up  to  the 
altar  in  line  for  the  song  of  praise  that  is 
God's  due.  And  here  it  may  be  noted, 
as  a  remarkable  piece  of  liturgical  insight, 
that  at  every  moment  of  poignancy  during 
the  entire  audience,  the  three  stand  together 
in  one  line  —  when  they  cry  glory  to  God 
in  the  highest,  when  they  protest  their 
loyalty,  when  they  call  him  by  His  supreme 
name  and  make  one  with  the  ushers  of 
His   Court,   when  they  entreat  mercy  and 


118       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

peace  from  the  Lamb  of  God  —  at  these 
occasions,  and  these  only,  are  the  three  stiff 
figures  in  one  horizontal  line,  as  if  need 
demanded  that  one  man  should  not  speak 
alone,  as  if  enthusiasm  or  agony  of  desire 
propelled  his  supporters  from  their  positions 
in  the  rear.  They  too  must  look  upon 
God's  face.  Yet  in  all  the  set  speeches, 
in  the  more  formal  addresses,  when  instances 
of  the  King's  graciousness  are  solemnly 
quoted,  and  He  receives  the  formal  homage 
due  to  His  threefold  being,  the  assistants 
are  content  to  stand  behind  and  observe 
the  most  precise  rules  of  precedence. 

The  singing  of  the  Epistle  and  Gospel 
are  accompanied  with  peculiar  rites;  the 
subdeacon,  like  a  child  called  suddenly  to 
an  important  ofiice,  goes  here  and  there  as 
if  excited:  he  clasps  the  precious  book,  is 
led  by  the  prompter  to  make  his  bow,  reads 
the  words  on  a  monotone,  allowing  his  voice 
to  crack  upwards  at  the  close;  then  he  runs 
to  his  father  as  if  to  ask  whether  he  has 
done  it  well,  kisses  his  hand  in  a  passion 
of  pride  and  hears  him  say,  "  God  bless  you, 


THE   RELIGIOUS   DANCE       119 

my  son."  Then  in  a  burst  of  ontliusiasm 
he  breaks  the  figure  and  runs  across  with 
the  Gospel-book  to  the  proper  place. 

But  at  his  elder  brother's  singing  of 
the  Gospel,  an  astonishing  elaborateness  is 
observed.  They  go  about  here  and  there, 
lights  are  brought  in,  and  blessings  dis- 
tributed. The  youngest  child  is  not  allowed 
to  touch  the  holy  thing  except  in  the  capa- 
city of  a  lectern.  Incense  is  blessed,  and 
the  white  pages  are  soaked  in  the  sacred 
antiseptic,  for  fear  that  the  eyes  and  lips 
of  a  mortal  man  might  smirch  the  purity 
of  the  Incarnate  Life  which  he  proclaims. 
The  father,  too,  faces  about  towards  his 
eldest  son,  and  obediently  kisses  the  page 
which  the  imperious  child  points  out  to 
him  —  so  imperious,  so  absorbed  in  his 
precious  burden  that  he  omits  to  make 
his  reverence  as  he  passes  through  the 
beam  of  light  that  pours  downward  from 
the  Tabernacle. 

At  the  Offertory,  the  harmony  of  move- 
ment is  disturbed,  for  matters  have  to  be 


120        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

arranged,  and  deacon  and  subdeacon  be- 
come for  the  moment  ordinary  persons  who 
hand  about  bread  and  wine  and  water,  and 
make  things  ready.  The  youngest,  too,  is 
forced  to  stand  aside  for  the  present,  and  a 
mere  man  in  a  surplice  takes  his  place  to 
turn  the  pages;  for  to  the  boy  is  given  an 
important  duty.  To  him  is  co«mmitted  the 
silver  cradle  in  which  the  Body  of  the  Prince 
is  to  lie  presently;  so  he  muffles  his  hands 
and  the  utensil  all  together  in  a  cloth  for 
fear  that  he  should  breathe  upon  it  or  touch 
it,  and  stands  breathless  down  below  while 
the  other  two  go  about  their  business  on  the 
highest  step.  He  partakes  of  the  character 
of  a  sentry,  a  servant,  and  an  observer.  He 
has  nothing  to  say  or  do;  he  must  stand 
perfectly  still  till  he  is  wanted.  He  would 
give  the  world  to  go  up  and  down  again 
with  the  other  two  and  the  censer  in  that 
rhythmical  dance  with  which  the  door  of 
the  second  ante-room  is  approached;  but  it 
is  not  allowed  him.  He  must  comfort  him- 
self with  reflecting  on  the  high  honour  be- 
stowed  on   him   with   the  guardianship   of 


THE   RELIGIOUS  DANCE      121 

the  j)aten,  and  the  pleasure  of  looking 
through  the  door.  Ilis  one  relief  is  to  step 
up  for  an  instant  for  the  Sanctus  and 
return. 

And  now  there  is  no  movement.  The 
hierarch  has  wheeled  on  his  heel  and  begged 
his  assistant  to  pray  for  him;  he  has  whis- 
pered his  first  sentence  in  the  King's  ear, 
a  hint  at  the  secret  boon  he  will  ask  pres- 
ently, and  has  then  stepped  back  to  make 
a  cheerful  noise  to  the  God  of  his  salvation. 
Then  again  he  comes  close  for  his  long, 
mysterious  colloquy.  He  is  explaining 
matters,  with  his  hands  now  held  out  in 
entreaty,  now  brought  together  in  a  pas- 
sionate clasp  at  the  close  of  his  sentences, 
as  he  names  the  Prince's  name.  He  refers, 
I  learn  from  my  book  of  words,  to  other 
eminent  instances  of  His  Majesty's  clem- 
ency; and  he  winds  up  by  an  appeal  that 
makes  all  sure. 

Qui  pridie.   .  .  . 

Then  he  bends  very  near  indeed,  all  drop 
on  their  knees  in  astonishment  at  such  con- 
descension;   he    wipes    his    fingers    with    a 


122        PAPERS   OF   A   PARIAH 

nervous,  hasty  movement,  and  then  the 
astounding  event  to  which  all  has  been 
tending  takes  place.  A  little  bell  rings,  and 
he  receives  in  his  arms  the  Body  of  the  In- 
fant Prince  for  which  he  has  been  begging 
so  long  .  .  .  just  to  hold  Him,  just  to  hold 
Him  for  a  minute  or  two.   .  .  . 

Ah!  was  not  the  posturing  and  the 
drama  and  the  runnings  to  and  fro,  and  the 
tapping  on  closed  doors,  and  the  plucking 
of  courtiers  by  the  sleeve,  and  the  whispered 
entreaties  to  be  spoken  for  —  was  not  all  this 
worth  it  ?  For  he  holds  now,  at  his  mercy, 
the  precious  Person  whom  God  loved  so 
much,  and  whom  yet  for  love  of  another 
He  was  willing  to  give  to  the  shame  and 
pain  of  the  Cross.  Is  there  anything  on 
earth  that  His  Majesty  can  refuse,  now  that 
He  has  given  the  most  precious  thing  in 
Heaven  ?  And  is  there  any  limit  to  what 
that  priest  can  ask,  who  has  asked  so  much 
and  got  it?  Even  to  me,  Protestant  as  I 
am,  it  did  seem  completely  suitable  that  an 
event  so  stupendous  could  scarcely  be  ap- 
proached by  any  other  process  than  that  of 


THE   RELIGIOUS   DANCE       123 

a  sacred  dramatic  dance,  with  an  accompani- 
ment of  rjf^id  and  minute  Court  etiquette. 
To  leave  the  conduct  of  such  a  thing  to  the 
individual  personality  and  the  private  taste 
of  a  sim])le  clergyman  in  a  surplice,  would 
be  nothing  else  than  bathos  of  the  worst 
description;  human  outlines  must  be  obliter- 
ated by  some  overpowering  uniform,  per- 
sonal tastes  and  methods  of  behaving  must 
be  rigidly  supplanted  by  set  movements  and 
gestures.  In  fact,  for  such  a  drama  as  this 
we  need  not  clericalism,  but  the  most  em- 
phatic sacerdotalism.  Originality  in  the 
sanctuary,  as  has  been  well  observed,  is  the 
grossest  vulgarity  known  to  men. 

The  rest  of  the  Mass  followed  the  lines 
already  indicated;  but  the  movements  were 
less  elaborate,  more  confident  —  (no  won- 
der!)—  and  slightly  more  human.  The 
youngest  son  restores  the  paten  presently, 
and  takes  off  the  silk  cloth;  he  receives  at 
the  proper  time  the  kiss  of  peace  —  that 
inexpressibly  tender  fragment  from  a  sim- 
pler and  more  loving  age  —  and  in  his  turn 


124       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

passes  it  on  till  it  dies  in  a  ripple  of  move- 
ment among  those  others  who  stand  and 
wait;  later  again  he  bows  low,  with  his 
brother  on  the  other  side,  and,  as  his 
supreme  privilege,  is  permitted  to  take  the 
cover  from  off  the  Precious  Blood.  .  .  .  Then 
he  finishes  the  wiping  of  the  vessels  which 
his  father  has  begun,  puts  them  away,  and 
returns  if  he  can  to  take  part  in  the  last 
simple  movement.  There  is  less  delibera- 
tion here,  for  the  audience  is  at  an  end;  so 
he  kneels  with  his  brother  to  be  blessed, 
answers  his  father,  shuts  the  book,  and 
comes  down  to  form  into  line  for  the  last 
time.  The  three  make  another  adoration 
towards  the  palace-windows,  and  with  the 
crash  of  brass  and  wood  and  the  shrilling 
of  strings,  they  join  the  deputation  that  has 
accompanied  them  to  the  gates;  and  Mass 
is  done. 

But  how  surprisingly  graceful  and  elo- 
quent the  whole  affair  has  been!  Emotions 
have  been  expressed  in  four  or  five  lan- 
guages  simultaneously;  by    sound,   colour, 


THE   RELKilOl  S   DANXE       125 

smell,  words,  and  movement.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  explicit,  more  likely  to  obtain 
its  object  before  God  to  whom  all  hearts 
are  open,  more  likely  to  save  His  worship- 
pers from  distraction  ?  Of  course  each  is 
unnecessary  regarded  from  one  point  of 
view;  some  may  be  bewildering  to  an  un- 
instructed  observer,  and  yet  all  should  stand 
or  fall  together,  in  spite  of  the  privilege  of 
the  sectarian  to  exclude  any  one  of  those 
vehicles  according  to  his  private  taste.  The 
Anglican  repudiates  the  unknown  tongue 
in  his  worship  of  God,  who,  however,  as  a 
seminary  priest  said  on  the  scaffold,  "well 
understands  it."  The  Baptist  banishes 
smell,  and  as  far  as  possible,  colour  and 
grace  of  movement;  the  Quaker  refuses 
these  and  the  sound  of  words  besides.  But 
the  Catholic  who  aspires  to  count  all  men 
as  his  brethren  employs  every  vehicle  that 
his  romantic  brain  can  suggest:  he  batters 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  by  five  portals  at 
once;  he  is  not  ashamed  to  take  his  place 
with  the  worshij)pers  of  Isis  and  Cybele, 
with    King    David,    and    with    the    naked 


126       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Fijean,   and  to   dance  with   all   his   might 
before  the  Lord. 

I  must  confess  that  I  shall  look  with  dis- 
may upon  my  clergyman  next  Sunday.  It 
is  not  that  he  does  not  dance,  but  that  he 
has  nothing  to  dance  about,  and  has  not 
learnt  the  steps.  .  .  . 


RELIGIOUS    PERSECUTION 

July,  1904. 

Mr.  Marjoribanks  will  not  let  me  be:  he 
has  been  at  me  again,  this  time  as  to  Popish 
persecutions,  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew, Torquemada,  and  Bloody  Queen 
Mary.  And  I  may  as  well  confess  at  once 
that  I  could  not  answer  him;  I  am  well 
aware  that  there  are  answers  —  that  the 
Huguenots  were  desperate  conspirators, 
and  that  the  Pope  struck  the  medal,  not  in 
thanksgiving  for  their  death,  but  for  the 
news  of  the  King's  escape;  that  Torque- 
mada's  methods  were  mildness  itself  com- 
pared to  those  of  the  contemporary  civil 
law  of  England,  that  Good  Queen  Bess 
stood  a  head  and  shoulders  above  her  sister 
in  truculence;  but  these  answers  do  not 
content  me.  I  am  not  willing  to  allow 
that  the   Catholic   Church  is  only  a  good 


128       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

deal  better  than  everything  else;  she  should 
be  surely  quite  different  from  all  else:  her 
standard  should  be  heavenly,  not  earthly; 
her  Law,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  rather 
than  the  Napoleonic  code. 

When,  therefore,  the  clergyman  rhetori- 
cally demanded  whether  my  moral  sense 
was  not  as  much  outraged  as  his  own 
when  I  contemplated  the  disciples  of  Jesus 
Christ  using  the  stake  and  faggot  for  the 
defence  of  the  Gospel,  I  was  obliged  to 
assent. 

I  have,  however,  been  pondering  the 
question  since,  and  I  think  that  I  have 
been  able  to  formulate  a  few  conclusions 
that  were  dark  to  me  before. 

Now,  the  root  of  the  whole  matter  —  the 
reason  of  this  complete  reversal  of  public 
opinion  —  seems  to  me  to  lie  very  deep,  and 
to  be  entwined  with  nothing  less  than  our 
conceptions  of  God's  intentions  for  the 
salvation  of  man. 

The  world  has  seen  some  very  curious 
variations    in    these    conceptions.     In    the 


RELIGIOUS   PERSFXUTIOX      129 

middle  ajjes  it  was  coinmonlv  uiulerstood 
that  man  was  saved  by  faith  and  works  — 
by  the  response  of  his  inner  nature  to  God's 
Spirit,  and  the  coincidence  of  his  outer 
actions  to  God's  \VilI.  Luther  stoutly  pro- 
tested against  the  second  of  these  two 
ideas:  he  declared  that  the  attitude  of  the 
soul  was  all  that  mattered;  tluit  the  out- 
ward life  was  comparatively  unimportant: 
a  man,  he  proclaimed,  is  saved  by  faith 
without  works.  In  our  own  days  the  pen- 
dulum has  swung  completely  across.  A 
man's  faith,  it  is  said,  is  comparatively 
unimportant,  it  is  his  actions  that  matter. 
The  Catholic  Church,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  remained  motionless  throughout:  faith 
and  works,  she  declares,  are  alike  necessary. 
Not  half,  but  the  whole  of  man's  nature 
must  co-operate. 

It  is  useless  to  discuss  whether  she  is 
right  or  wrong;  but  that  she  has  been 
stable  when  all  else  has  changed,  is  an 
undeniable  fact.  She  holds  the  positive 
])rinciples  on  either  side,  and  always  has  so 
held  them. 


130       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Now,  on  these  premisses  I  do  not  under- 
stand how  rehgious  persecution  can  be  con- 
demned by  those  who  continue  to  support 
the  framework  of  society  by  means  of  the 
hangman  and  the  rope.  Society,  it  is  said, 
must  be  kept  up  at  all  costs;  individual 
whims  must  subordinate  themselves  to  the 
good  of  the  community:  I  am  not  allowed 
to  fire  guns  in  the  street,  to  throw  stones 
at  my  neighbour's  windows,  to  strangle 
Mr.  Marjoribank's  baby.  In  one  sense  I 
am  free  to  do  so;  but  if  I  do  so  I  am  fined, 
imprisoned,  or  hanged  according  to  the 
nature  of  my  crime.  In  other  words,  in 
the  opinion  of  society,  a  man  is  justified  or 
condemned  by  his  works,  not  his  faith. 

If,  however,  it  is  once  granted  that  justi- 
fication by  faith  is  also  true,  I  do  not  see 
how  we  can  object  to  the  fires  of  Smithfield 
and  Toledo,  for  exactly  parallel  arguments, 
neither  more  nor  less,  can  be  adduced  in 
their  behalf:  and  Beza,  Luther,  and  Calvin 
were  the  first  to  say  so,  and  even  to  act 
upon  their  theory. 

When  I  strangle  Master  Marjoribanks  I 


RELIGIOUS  PERSECUTION      131 

commit  at  least  two  injuries:  I  kill  the 
child,  and  I  iniperil  society;  —  the  harm 
inflicted  on  my  own  character  is  a  negligi- 
ble quantity.  Very  well,  answers  the  world ; 
you  have  chosen  to  do  this,  and  tlierefore 
in  self-defence  I  choose  to  hang  you. 

Now%  when  a  man  fell  into  heresy  pre- 
cisely the  same  argument  was  applied. 

"You  are  endangering,"  cried  Torque- 
mada —  "y^'^^  ^^'^  endangering  the  salvation 
of  your  neighbour,  even  if  you  have  not 
already  actually  assaulted  it;  you  are  injur- 
ing the  whole  scheme  of  the  Church  by 
w^hich  salvation  is  to  be  found;  and  you 
have  done  more  than  this:  you  have  in- 
sulted the  Divine  Majesty,  and  you  are 
slaying  your  own  soul.  Therefore  you  will 
appear  next  Saturday  in  the  market-square 
and  be  put  to  death  there  according  to 
agreement." 

Now%  honestly  I  do  not  at  first  see  how  to 
answer  the  Spaniard  except  by  denying  his 
premisses  —  by  crying  out  that  a  man  is  not 
justified  by  his  faith,  that  it  does  not  in  the 
least  matter  what  he  believes  because  there 


132       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

is  no  such  thing  as  definite  Revelation,  by 
joining  myself  with  those  who  say  that  out- 
ward works  are  alone  important,  and  that 
the  rest  must  be  a  matter  of  individual 
choice. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  him  that  his  laws 
were  brutal:  he  will  answer  me  that  they 
were  far  less  brutal  than  the  civil  laws  of 
contemporary  England,  and  that  the  State, 
and  not  the  Church,  was  responsible  for  the 
penalty.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  him  that  a 
man's  faith  cannot  be  compelled  at  will:  he 
will  answer  me  that  it  can;  for  that  faith  is 
not  an  intellectual  process  or  an  emotional 
state,  but  an  act  of  the  will  assenting  to  the 
Church,  exactly  as  loyalty  is  an  act  of  the 
will  assenting  to  the  State.  And  he  will 
add,  moreover,  a  number  of  even  more  irre- 
futable arguments.  He  will  tell  me  that  the 
word  "  heresy,"  used  in  the  sense  of  his  time, 
always  and  invariably  denoted  a  spirit  of 
anarchical  revolt  which  rebelled  not  only 
against  Revelation,  but  against  both  moral- 
ity and  civil  authority  as  well;  he  will  re- 
mind me  that  it  was  apostates,  not  infidels. 


RELIGIOUS   PERSECL  I  lOX       133 

wlio  suffered,  and  that  the  Cliurch  always 
denouneed  in  tlie  fiercest  manner  any 
attempt  to  proselytize  the  latter  class  by 
any  means  but  those  of  (juiet  persuasion; 
and  if,  in  a  final  struggle,  I  assert  the  rights 
of  conscience,  he  will  ask  me  how  far  I  am 
willing  to  respect  those  rights  in  a  man 
whom  conscience  bids  blow  up  Parliament- 
house  with  gunpowder. 

Where,  then,  lies  the  escape  of  one  who 
like  myself  regards  a  right  faith  as  of  equal 
importance  with  a  right  life  ?  Does  it  lie  in 
the  retort  that  corporal  penalties  in  such 
matters  are  utterly  alien  to  the  gentle  spirit 
of  Christ?  I  think  not;  for  it  would  be 
equally  hard  to  show  that  Jesus  Christ's 
words  are  compatible  with  our  own  Worm- 
wood Scrubs  and  Wandsworth  gallows.  So 
long  as  we  continue  to  enforce  morality 
and  punish  attempted  suicide  by  such 
matters  as  the  Criminal  Law  Amendment 
Act  and  the  police-court,  so  long,  indeed, 
as  we  resist  the  evil-doer  at  all  or  summon 
a  policeman  with  his  truncheon  to  resist  him 


134       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

on  our  behalf,  so  long  will  it  be  impossible 
to  take  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  in  its 
literal  sense;  we  must  be  content  with  some 
other  interpretation  of  it  before  we  can 
deduce  that  we  are  justified  in  using  force 
against  either  violence,  or  immorality,  or 
heresy  in  any  shape  or  form. 

The  escape  seems  to  me  to  lie  in  another 
direction. 

So  long  as  the  Catholic  Church  was 
actually  as  well  as  ideally  the  undisputed 
mistress  of  the  inner  life,  the  whole  frame- 
work of  society,  civil  and  moral  alike,  rested 
upon  her  as  their  sanction  and  support. 
All  finally  came  back  to  her  and  to  the  laws 
that  she  proclaimed,  and  revolt  against 
her  supreme  claim  meant  a  blow  struck 
against  society  as  a  whole.  Under  these 
circumstances,  therefore,  granted  that  the 
civil  magistrates  were  justified  in  punishing 
theft,  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  denied  that 
Torquemada  was  justified  in  punishing 
heresy.  (The  Quaker  argument  I  deeply 
respect,  which  is  to  the  effect  that  both 
magistrate  and  inquisitor  are  alike  wrong 


RELIGIOUS   PERSECUTION       135 

—  but  I  am  not  dealing  with  that:  I  am 
assuming  that  the  Quaker  is  wrong.)  But, 
I  repeat,  if  the  magistrate  is  right,  the 
inquisitor  was  right.  It  was  not  a  que.stion 
of  detail,  but  of  ])rinciple;  public  opinion 
declared  unhesitatin""lv  that  the  constitution 
and  inviolability  of  the  Church  were  no 
less  certain  than  the  constitution  and  in- 
violability of  the  State.  Religion  in  those 
days  was  neither  more  nor  less  a  matter  of 
opinion  than  loyalty  is  in  our  ow^n;  the 
average  man  was  far  more  insulted  by  being 
called  a  heretic  than  our  own  citizens  were 
insulted  three  years  ago  by  being  called 
pro-Boers.  To  the  simple  eyes  of  Spaniards 
Christ's  Revelation  was  as  much  assured 
to  him  as  representative  government  or 
Magna  Charta  to  ourselves. 

But  times  have  changed.  Religion  is 
now  a  matter  of  opinion,  perhaps  even  of 
mere  convention,  amongst  most  of  our  civi- 
lized nations;  it  is  impossible  to  say  that 
public  order  and  peace  rest  with  us  upon 
a  revealed  dogmatic  basis.  Society  profes- 
sedly protects,  not  the  rights  of  God,  but 


136       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

her  own;  she  punishes  theft,  but  not  forni- 
cation ;  she  avenges  blasphemy,  not  as  being 
an  insult  to  God,  but  an  offence  to  her  own 
ears.  It  is  utterly  impossible,  therefore  —  it 
is  more,  it  would  be  actually  immoral  —  for 
the  Catholic  Church  to  attempt  to  act  ac- 
cording to  her  old  methods.  She  would 
now  be  protecting,  not  a  universally 
acknowledged  fact,  but  a  personal  opinion. 
This  change,  I  suppose,  took  definite 
shape  in  England  towards  the  end  of 
Henry  VIII. 's  reign,  and  about  the  same 
time  began  to  affect  the  continent  of  Europe. 
Mary  Tudor,  therefore,  must  be  blamed,  not 
for  tyranny,  but  stupidity;  she  had  not 
realized  the  momentous  transformation,  and 
she  attempted  to  act  as  if  Protestantism 
were  a  passing  breeze,  not  a  steady  wind. 
But  for  Elizabeth  I  can  find  no  words  too 
hard;  she  was  attacking,  not  a  new  opinion, 
but  the  old  faith;  she  used  her  rack  and 
knife  against  that  which  had  secured  to  her 
the  throne,  not  against  that  which  threat- 
ened it;  she  punished  men  for  standing 
still,  not  for  moving  forward  in  a  new  and 


RELIGIOUS   PERSECUTION     137 

dangerous  direction;  and,  above  all,  she 
who  now  stands  forth  in  tlie  Protestant 
world  as  the  chanij)i()n  of  private  judgment, 
racked  and  butchered  those  whose  private 
judgment  did  not  coincide  with  her  own. 

Mr.  Marjoribanks,  therefore,  can  take 
courage.  He  need  fear  neither  for  his 
flock,  his  baby,  nor  himself,  when  he  con- 
templates such  an  improbable  event  as  my 
turning  Papist.  I  should  not  dream  of 
gathering  a  company  of  masked  familiars 
and  surrounding  his  house  at  nightfall  in  an 
attempt  to  terrify  or  rack  him  in  the  direc- 
tion of  an  act  of  faith;  I  should  consider 
such  an  attempt  as  not  only  foolish,  but 
actually  immoral;  for  by  such  an  act  I 
should  be  defending,  not  the  constitution  of 
English  or  European  society,  but  only  what 
I  should  then  believe  to  be  God's  Truth. 
And  God's  Truth,  pure  and  simple,  apart 
from  its  union  with  civil  law  (faith,  that  is, 
without  works),  can  no  more  be  propagated 
by  ropes  or  whips  than  can  a  man's  private 
opinion  on  lust  or  truthfulness  be  ati'ected 
by  the  same  means. 


138       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Religious  persecution,  Mr.  Marjoribanks, 
I  repeat,  is  not  an  attempt,  and  never  has 
been  an  attempt,  to  change  a  man's  inner 
mind  by  means  of  direct  pain,  any  more 
than  the  hanging  of  Mr.  Palmer  of  Rugeley 
was  an  attempt  to  persuade  him  that  the 
poisoning  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Cook,  was  an 
immoral  action.  Certainly  many  heretics, 
possibly  even  Mr.  Palmer  himself,  were  led 
by  the  prospect  of  death  to  reconsider  their 
position;  but  the  main  idea  in  both  courses 
was  primarily  to  protect  that  scheme  in 
which  men  in  general,  it  was  believed, 
found  their  justification,  and  by  which  they 
lived.  .  .  . 


SCIENCE    AND    FxVITII 

July,  1904. 

I  HAVE  lately  emerged  from  a  fit  of  gloom 
—  a  fit  that,  I  am  beginning  to  see,  recurs 
as  regularly  as  any  other  physical  depres- 
sion in  those  who  are  endowed  with  the 
"artistic  temperament."  It  is  difficult  to 
put  its  characteristics  into  words;  but  I 
think  it  will  be  useful  for  me  to  attempt  it, 
and  to  write  down  at  the  same  time  the 
considerations  which  have  helped  to  dis- 
perse its  horror. 

It  was  this :  —  It  seemed  to  me  that 
Religion  was  a  very  unsatisfactory  affair 
altogether.  Here  we  are,  placed  in  a  world 
of  undoubted  matter  —  a  world  that,  in 
spite  of  philosophers,  is  a  fairly  intelligible 
thing  —  intelligible,  that  is  to  say,  as  far  as 
action  is  concerned.  If  you  will  but  be  sen- 
sible, I  told  myself,  and  live  an  ordinary  life, 

139 


140       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

and  do  things  that  please  me,  and  relieve 
suffering  in  others  so  soon  as  that  suffering 
becomes  an  unpleasant  thought  to  myself, 
and  observe  the  ordinary  social  laws,  and 
look  after  myself,  and  give  tit  for  tat  —  in 
short,  live  exactly  as  nine  out  of  any  ten 
men  do  live  —  life  becomes  a  very  reason- 
able and  pleasant  affair.  For,  after  all, 
does  not  religion  give  one  more  pain  than 
pleasure  ?  It  is  for  ever  interfering  with  my 
natural  instincts,  and  perplexing  me  with 
the  additional  problems  of  itself,  and  mak- 
ing demands  for  which  apparently  it  gives 
no  adequate  compensation.  Further,  it  is 
not  as  if  religion  was  undoubtedly  and  irre- 
futably true.  If,  of  course,  I  knew  for  cer- 
tain that  God  was  God  and  the  Catholic 
Church  His  representative,  I  should  be 
simply  a  fool  if  I  did  not  lead  a  religious 
life;  but  I  do  not  know  it.  Millions  of 
persons  far  more  clever  than  myself  deny 
it;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  put  for- 
ward theories,  supported  it  seems  by  science, 
which  certainly  appear  to  explain  every- 
thing with  the  exception,  of  course,  of  the 


SCIENCE   AXI)    FAITH         141 

main  pn'mnl  mystorv  as  to  wliy  aTiytliinn^  is 
at  all.  There  are  vast  countries  on  wliieli 
Christianity  has  made  no  inij)ression,  there 
are  other  countries,  and  those  liiglily  civi- 
lized, where  Christianity  is  fading.  And, 
once  more,  is  not  Catliolicisin  extremely 
improbable  after  all  ?  It  is  based  upon  the 
belief  that  God  became  man  —  in  itself 
highly  improbable  —  and  from  that  fact 
flow  out  with  —  I  must  confess  —  irresist- 
ible logic,  a  number  of  doctrines  and  theories 
that  seem  to  me,  when  I  am  in  this  mood, 
the  redudio  ad  absurdum  of  that  Incarnation. 
Take  the  single  doctrine  of  Transubstantia- 
tion,  for  instance  —  observe  the  Devotion 
of  the  Tabernacle.  .  .  .  There,  in  that  iron 
safe,  say  the  pious,  in  a  silver  cup  made  by 
Messrs.  Jones  and  Willis,  is  the  Eternal 
Incomprehensible  God  together  with  the 
Soul,  the  Body,  and  the  Blood  of  One  Who 
died  nineteen  hundred  years  ago,  in  an 
obscure  Eastern  province.  Now,  is  that 
likely  ?  .  .  .  Certainly,  say  the  real  agnostics, 
it  may  he  true,  and  the  further  side  of  the 
moon  may  be  made  of  green  cheese;  but  it 


142       PAPERS   OF  A   PARIAH 

is  scarcely  reasonable  to  ask  us  to  sacrifice 
undoubtedly  real  pleasures,  and  to  deny 
those  senses  by  which  we  are  in  relations 
with  the  sensible  world,  and  to  upset 
our  lives,  and  to  devote  hours  of  day- 
light to  prayer,  on  the  supposition  that 
that  improbable  thing  may  possibly  be  a 
fact. 

Ah,  how  convincing  it  all  sounds  when 
one  is  in  the  agnostic  mood;  and  how  in- 
credibly mean  and  unconvincing  when  one 
is  not! 

Now,  I  cannot  explain  the  mysterious 
movements  of  the  soul  by  which  I  have 
emerged  from  that  fit  of  depression;  all  I 
can  do  is  to  write  down  the  outlines  of  a 
few  considerations  which  floated  on  the 
surface  of  those  movements. 

The  principal  of  them  was  the  thought 
of  the  Transcendence  of  God. 

It  is  quite  certain  that  if  God  exists  at 
all,  He  exists  in  a  completely  different 
manner  from  that  in  which  we  exist.  Our 
first  conceptions  of  Him,  considered  philo- 
sophically, must  be  of  the  negative  order. 


SCIENCE   AND    FxVITII         143 

He  is  not  as  we  are;  He  has  not  a  mind 
like  ours;  He  does  not  occupy  space;  He 
does  not  therefore  move  or  change;  He 
does  not  progress  through  time;  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  are  obviously  all 
one  with  Him.  In  fact,  of  God  as  He  must 
be  in  Himself,  we  can  say  very  little  except 
negations.  He  is  not  here  cuid  there,  then 
atid  now;  He  just  is. 

But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  do  and 
are  these  various  things;  and,  intellectually, 
we  cannot  really  picture  to  ourselves  an 
existence  in  any  other  mode  than  ours,  or 
argue  about  it.  When  we  think  we  have 
pictured  a  spirit,  really  all  we  have  done  is 
to  think  of  a  thin  kind  of  body.  .  .  .  There- 
fore the  gulf  between  us  and  God  seems 
impassable.  His  thoughts  are  not  only 
higher,  but  they  are  actually  other  than 
ours  in  their  very  nature. 

Now,  the  agnostic,  and  indeed  a  great 
many  other  people  who  would  repudiate 
the  name,  are  more  or  less  content  with 
that.  They  shrug  their  shoulders  —  "Yes; 
if  there  is  a  God  He  is  like  that;  then  what 


144        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

is  the  use  of  bothering?  How  on  earth 
can  we  know  anything  about  Him  ?  Mean- 
while here  is  practical  work  to  be  done,  and 
mutton  to  be  eaten,  and  women  to  be  loved, 
and  books  to  be  read  and  written,  and 
ordinary  civilized  life  to  be  carried  on;  or, 
if  you  want  more,  here  is  suffering  that  had 
better  be  relieved,  and  social  reforms  that 
might  as  well  be  inaugurated  —  all  these 
things  rest  on  an  intelligible  basis:  then 
why  fret  about  the  Transcendent?" 

But  it  seems  to  me  that  they  omit  a  most 
vital  point.  Granted  all  this,  we  have  yet 
to  remember  that  on  our  assumption  that 
there  is  a  Transcendent  God,  the  world  as 
we  know  it  came  into  being  by  Him;  and 
that  therefore  the  gulf  is  not  actually  but 
only  intellectually  impassable.  Spirit  did, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  express  itself  in  matter; 
and  further,  therefore,  it  follows  that  there 
is  nothing  more  reasonable  than  to  believe 
that  It  should  still  communicate  with  us  in 
the  same  terms.  What,  then,  follows  from 
this  but  that  "Religion,"  although  dealing 
with  and  leading  to  Transcendence,  must 


SCIENCE   AND   EAITII         145 

be  for  all  practical  purposes  in  the  same 
plane  of  existence  as  we,  and  not  as  God  ? 

Now  consider  the  Tabernacle  again,   or 
the  Incarnation,  for  they  are  both  the  same 

—  and  are  they  so  unreasonable  ?  True, 
Messrs.  Jones  antl  Willis  made  the  Ciborium, 
and  pious  nuns  the  bread;  but  what  has 
that  really  jrot  to  do  with  it  ?  If  Trans- 
cendent  God  communicates  with  man  —  and 
it  is  really  unthinkable  that  He  should  not 

—  He  is  bound,  not  by  His  limitations,  but 
by  ours,  to  communicate  with  us  through 
means  that  are  as  material  as  ourselves. 

We  see,  then  —  or  at  least  I  do  —  that 
religion  must,  from  our  nature,  be  inade- 
quate to  the  Divine  Essence,  simply  because 
we  are  in  one  mode  of  existence  and  He  is 
in  another;  but  that  does  not  at  all  mean 
that  it  is  in  the  least  untrue  or  inadequate 
to  our  needs.  We  cannot  help  materializing 
everything,  picturing  spirit  under  a  bodily 
image,  conceiving  of  God  as  an  old  im- 
measurable man,  and  so  forth;  and  therefore 
even  revealed  religion  is  bound  to  be  of  the 
same  kind.     God,  in  other  words,  is  bound 


146        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

to  use  Images  and  things  that  are  within  our 
range.  To  say  that  the  Devotion  of  the 
Tabernacle  Is  limiting  to  spirit,  Is  to  imply 
that  It  Is  unworthy  of  God  to  have  made 
matter,  If  It  Is  unworthy  of  Him  to  use  It. 

The  truth,  then,  lies  in  neither  of  the  two 
extremes  of  spiritualism  and  materialism  — 
neither  In  Mrs.  Eddy  nor  Professor  Huxley; 
nor,  again,  In  that  vague  invertebrate  religion 
(so  dear  to  the  British  mind),  always 
oscillating  between  the  two  and  faithful  to 
neither:  but  in  a  frank  and  full  conception 
of  both.  It  is,  of  course,  the  tendency  of  the 
religious  mind  to  be  exclusive  —  to  dwell 
either  upon  the  Transcendence  of  God  and 
to  sneer  at  the  reality  of  sacraments  and 
creeds  and  the  particular  devotions  of  the 
unthinking  pious ;  or  upon  the  material  side 
of  religion,  and  to  think  that  our  necessarily 
anthropomorphic  Images  of  the  Deity  are 
adequate  to  His  Nature  and  Being.  But 
the  truth  surely  lies  In  both.  God  Is  Trans- 
cendent, therefore  no  dogma  is  adequate: 
God  communicates  with  man;  therefore  the 
system  of  religion  that  comes  from  Him  — 


SCIENCE   AND   FAIIII         117 

whatever  that  may  be  —  is  ahsohitoly  true 
so  far  as  it  goes.  Tlie  reasonal)l('  Catholic, 
therefore,  seems  to  me  to  have  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  both  sides.  He  has  all  the  agnos- 
ticism of  the  agnostic  with  regard  to  (iod 
as  He  is  in  Himself;  he  has  all  the  fervent 
faith  of  the  Breton  peasant  in  the  local 
manifestations  of  the  supralocal,  and  the 
verbal  definitions  of  the  Ineffable. 

A   second   point   flows   naturally   out    of 
this. 

Intellect  plainly  is  insufficient  for  religious 
belief;  but  so  it  is  also  for  every  other  branch 
of  knowledge  except  the  exact  sciences.  The 
exact  sciences,  we  must  remember,  have,  pro- 
perly speaking,  no  real  existence  at  all  except 
in  man's  brain;  they  are  abstract,  not  con- 
crete. There  is  no  such  thing,  for  example, 
as  "two"  in  the  world,  as  Mr.  Illingworth 
says  somewhere:  "Two"  is  always  united 
(except  in  the  brain,  and  perhaps  even  there 
also)  with  apples  or  horses  or  persons.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  line  or  a  point  or  a 
circle.  These  sciences,  then,  are  literally  the 
only  ones  in  which  intellect  is  competent: 


148      PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

in  history,  geology,  art,  chemistry,  and  the 
rest,  a  thousand  other  faculties  come  in.  A 
man  must  have  predispositions,  theories, 
observations,  enthusiasm,  faith  in  the  word 
of  others,  if  he  is  to  make  any  progress  in 
these  other  branches  of  knowledge.  And 
yet,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  apparently 
sensible  persons  demand  that  unless  intellect 
be  used  alone  in  the  realm  of  religion  — • 
religion,  which  is  infinitely  more  complicated 
and  exhaustive  and  inclusive  than  any  other 
realm,  since  it  embraces  not  only  the  entire 
life  of  man,  but  even  the  dealings  of  a 
Transcendent  God  and  to  some  extent  His 
Being  —  unless  intellect  is  accepted  as 
supreme,  they  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Enthusiasm  is  blinding,  they  say 
(whereas  really  it  is  illuminating);  predis- 
positions are  the  parents  of  illusion  (whereas 
really  they  are  God-given  aids  to  intuition); 
theories  are  full  of  bias  (whereas  progress  is 
impossible  without  them) ;  faith  in  the  word 
of  others  is  credulity  (whereas  really  it  is  an 
exercise  of  the  moral  faculty).  And  so  forth. 
It  is  surely  obvious  then,  to  take  yet  one 


SCIENCE   AND   FAFI  IT         149 

more  illustration,  that  ivligioii  cannot  pos- 
sibly be  "proved."  Only  the  exact  sciences 
can  be  "proved,"  in  the  sense  in  which  that 
word  is  commonly  used.  You  cannot  dem- 
onstrate by  chemical  analysis  the  beauty 
of  a  picture,  or  by  reference  to  records  the 
atmosphere  of  fourteenth-century  civiliza- 
tion; by  such  methods  no  more  can  be  done 
than  the  handling  of  the  grosser  materials. 
But  the  supreme  judgment  must  be  given, 
not  by  this  faculty  or  by  that,  but  by  the 
entire  man;  his  sympathy,  his  intuition,  his 
emotion,  his  self-knowledge,  his  experience 
—  not  one  must  be  wholly  wanting;  intel- 
lect by  itself  is  powerless;  there  must 
co-operate  with  it  all  that  we  mean  by 
character;  and  character,  as  w^e  know,  is 
the  result  of  living. 

Turn,  therefore,  once  more  to  religion. 

Here  is  a  subject  which  claims  to  concern 
the  whole  of  man,  and  more.  It  concerns, 
first,  man  as  he  is  in  himself,  his  emotions, 
his  morals,  his  understanding,  his  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions,  his  social  relations,  his 
individual  responsibility,  his  aspirations,  his 


150       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

doubts,  his  hopes ;  and,  further,  it  claims  to 
concern  all  that  God  has  done  for  him;  his 
creation,  his  redemption,  his  momentary 
guidance  and  illumination.  If,  then,  one 
single  branch  of  man's  activities  —  art  or 
historical  learning  —  depends  for  its  perfect 
pursuit  upon  the  entire  man;  if,  for  ex- 
ample, falling  in  love  gives  him  new  passion 
in  music-making,  or  a  disappointment  a 
keen  intuition  into  Napoleon's  life  at  St. 
Helena  —  how  much  more  is  every  faculty 
of  his  being,  in  short,  his  character  as  he 
has  made  it  out  of  his  original  nature  by  his 
subsequent  efforts  and  circumstances  —  how 
much  more  is  this  to  give  evidence  in  his 
supreme  interest?  An  academic  professor, 
therefore,  occupied  with  mathematics,  is 
open  to  the  peril  of  one-sidedness ;  so  is 
the  historian,  the  artist,  the  sensualist,  the 
philosopher;  each  in  his  own  realm  has 
cultivated  his  faculties  to  an  end  unworthy 
of  their  fullest  exercise;  he  alone  is  su- 
premely competent  to  judge  of  religion 
who  has  dedicated  his  powers  to  its  single 
cause;  who  has  tried  to  live,  not  to  himself, 


SCIENCE   AND   FAITH         i:>l 

nor  to  any  one  branch  of  life  exclusively, 
but  to  the  study  of  the  Will  of  God  and  to 
the  manner  in  which  He  may  be  served. 

"Thou  hast  hidden  these  things,"  cried 
Jesus  Christ,  "from  the  wise  and  prudent; 
and  hast  revealed  them  unto  babes."  .  .  . 
"Do  the  doctrine,"  He  said  again,  "live 
the  life,  and  you  shall  know  the  truth."  .   .   . 

Dear  me!  How  plain  it  is  just  now!  I 
seem  to  myself  to  have  come  up  out  of 
a  small  stuffy  room  on  to  the  housetop. 
There  I  was  lastlweek,  poking  away  among 
fossils  and  moths'  wings  and  dust  and  con- 
fusion: my  intuitions  were  as  rusty  tools; 
my  emotions  had  ebbed;  and  above  all,  I 
was  complacently  regarding  myself.  And 
therefore  Christianity  seemed  to  me  quite 
impossible.  I  was  bothered  by  the  Higher 
Criticism  and  the  geological  discoveries  of 
somebody  whose  name  I  now  forget.  And 
now  I  have  come  up;  and  God's  sky  is 
over  me,  and  the  breeze  is  in  my  face.   .   .   . 

It  is  not  that  my  intellect  —  such  as  it  is 
—  has  ceased  to  work;  on  the  contrary,  it 
is  workinfT;  better  than  ever.     I  see  all  that 


152       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

I  saw  last  week;  I  remember  everything 
except  the  name  of  the  geological  professor; 
I  am  capable  this  moment  of  delivering  a 
short  disquisition  on  the  authorship  of 
Isaiah;  but,  thank  God,  those  other  frailties 
are  awake  as  well ;  my  whole  character  — 
a  poor  thing,  but  all  that  I  have  got  —  is 
alive  again;  and  I  could  sooner  doubt  of 
my  own  existence  than  of  the  Sacrament 
of  the  Altar  or  the  Fructiferous  Incarnation 
of  the  Son  of  God.  .  .  . 


LOW    MASS 

September,  1904. 

I  MUST  be  fivank  with  myself. 

It  is  useless  to  pretend  that  I  am  not 
trying  to  make  the  best  of  the  Roman 
Church;  and,  after  all,  I  do  not  want  to 
pretend  otherwise,  for  the  only  conceivable 
way  of  understanding  anything  is  under- 
standing it;  in  other  words,  if  you  would 
judge  of  a  system  you  must  approach  it 
as  a  friend,  and  not  an  enemy. 

Now,  it  is  as  perfectly  easy  to  pick  holes 
in  the  manner  in  which  Low  Mass  is  cele- 
brated, as  to  do  the  same  oflBce  for  Morning 
Prayer.  If  the  one  is  mumbled,  the  other 
is  preached;  if  the  one  is  sacerdotal,  the 
other  is  clerical;  and  both  alike  may  be 
called  by  their  respective  foes  an  insult  to 
man's  intelligence.  But  it  appears  to  me, 
in    the    enthusiasm    of   this    moment,    that 

153 


154       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

the  former  is  at  least  not  an  insult  to  God 
Almighty's  intelligence  as  well.  It  is  not 
hinted  that  the  Creator  cannot  understand 
the  silent  motions  of  the  heart,  nor  be 
moved  by  a  formal  address  unless  it  is 
delivered  with  skilful  enunciation.  Roughly 
speaking,  then,  it  appears  to  me  that  the 
presence  of  God,  who  is  a  Spirit,  is  assumed 
as  a  matter  of  course  by  the  Massing-priest, 
and  loudly  declared  by  the  minister  of  the 
Establishment. 

Two  days  ago  I  arrived  in  town  by  the 
early  Irish  mail  at  St.  Pancras  Station, 
and  had  an  hour  or  two  to  spend  at  Vic- 
toria before  catching  the  9.15  for  Little 
Brasted.  So,  after  bestowing  my  luggage 
and  breakfasting  in  the  refreshment-room, 
I  went  for  a  walk.  I  have  no  sense  of 
geography,  and  have  not  the  faintest  idea 
as  to  what  the  little  church  was  into  which 
I  turned  a  few  minutes  before  seven  o'clock. 
It  stood  in  a  by-lane  somewhere  to  the 
north  of  Victoria  Street. 

I  suppose  there  were  half  a  dozen  people 


LOW   MASS  155 

there  when  I  entered,  and  twice  as  many 
again  when  I  went  out  half  an  liour  later. 
There  was  a  heavy  fog  outside  and  a  fair 
sample  of  it  inside,  and  the  gas-lights  at 
the  back  of  the  church  had  a  kind  of  frosted 
halo,  very  pleasant  to  see,  around  their 
flames.  The  rest  of  the  church  was 
tolerably  dark,  except  at  the  altar,  where 
three  candles  burned,  one  at  either  end, 
and  a  third  by  the  book  on  the  right-hand 
side. 

There  was  a  dirty  statue  of  the  Redeemer 
in  red  close  beside  me  against  a  pillar, 
with  a  guttered  candle  or  two  at  the  foot. 
There  was  a  hideous  round-topped  red 
window  cutting  the  gloom  like  a  bloated 
moon  overhead;  and  a  very  tawdry  dis- 
play of  brass  things,  and  what  I  took  to  be 
sham  roses  above  the  altar.  It  is  im- 
possible to  describe  how  every  artistic 
nerve  in  my  body  and  soul  was  outraged. 
I  began  to  wish  I  had  gone  to  Westminster 
Cathedral  instead,  if  I  wanted  piety,  for 
there  at  least  things  are  far  enough  away 
to  look  respectable. 


156       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Presently  a  small  creature  in  white  and 
black  emerged  from  somewhere,  snuffing 
loudly,  and  a  fat  clergyman  came  after,  in 
the  same  sort  of  costume,  only  in  his  case 
the  black  was  uppermost  and  the  white 
beneath,  and  he  wore  an  inelegant  hat  on 
his  head,  resembling  that  of  a  cook.  The 
two  approached  the  altar  and  went  down, 
each  on  one  knee;  then  the  fat  man,  who 
had  got  rid  of  his  hat,  went  up  the  steps 
and  set  some  things  down  upon  the  table. 

Then  I  made  a  great  effort,  and  exhorted 
myself  in  somewhat  of  this  fashion:  "You 
have  no  business  to  say  this  kind  of  thing. 
After  all,  who  are  you  ?  You  are  a  broken- 
down  actor  of  no  fortune  and  no  particular 
gifts.  You  have  lived  an  irreligious  life 
for  the  most  part,  and  are  only  just  now 
beginning  to  attend  to  the  affairs  of  your 
soul.  What  do  you  know  about  religion, 
and  of  the  way  in  which  God  wants  to 
be  worshipped.^  How  do  you  know  He 
doesn't  prefer  this  kind  of  thing  .^  Just 
attend  and  hold  your  tongue.  Besides,  you 
are   extremely   tired    and   cross   with   your 


LOW   MASS  157 

night-journey:  you  are  eonseious  of  grimy 
cuffs  and  a  crumpled  collar  and  the  absence 
of  your  usual  bath.  But  for  all  that,  try 
to  behave  decently  inside  as  well  as  outside. 
Don't  criticize.  But  attend,  and  try  to 
conceive  it  possible  that  there  may  be 
something  more  in  this  world  than  your 
vast  intelligence  has  already  comprehended." 

It  did  me  a  great  deal  of  good;  and  by 
the  time  that  the  fat  man  had  found  his 
place  and  come  down  the  steps  again,  I  was 
in  a  more  chastened  mood.  I  was  even 
willing  to  allow  that  he  might  know  more 
about  his  business  than  I. 

Well,  I  need  not  describe  Low  Mass 
at  length.  It  is  perfectly  familiar  to  most 
people.  But  perhaps  it  is  necessary  to  re- 
mark that  it  is  not  at  all  like  High  Mass. 
There  is  no  posturing  or  singing;  every- 
thing is  done  in  an  extremely  business-like 
way,  and  as  rapidly  as  possible.  (I  am  even 
given  to  understand  that  some  priests  say 
what  is  called  a  black  Mass  as  often  as  they 
are  allowed,  because  it  occupies  ten  minutes 
less  than  any  other  form  of   that  service.) 


158       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

The  man  appeared  to  say  his  piece,  some- 
times to  himself  altogether,  and  sometimes 
in  a  grumbling,  discontented  voice;  and,  for 
one  of  his  condition,  he  moved  almost 
briskly,  washing  his  hands,  and  bowing 
down,  turning  the  pages,  and  doing  this  and 
that  as  expeditiously  as  possible.  A  small 
bell  rang  now  and  again;  and  the  snuffling 
creature  who  attended  the  priest  sneezed 
four  times  loudly  in  the  dead  silence,  yet 
went  about  his  work  without  a  sign  of 
disconcertedness.  Finally,  after  a  loud  bawl- 
ing on  the  knees,  to  which  the  small  congre- 
gation responded  as  hastily  as  their  choragus, 
the  undignified  procession  of  two  shuffled 
away  and  disappeared.  Then  I  took  my 
hat  and  umbrella  and  went  out  too. 

I  must  confess  that  I  was  very  much 
astonished  and  disappointed  at  first  as  I 
groped  my  way  in  the  fog.  This  was  not 
like  the  Requiem;  there  was  not  an  attempt 
to  impress  the  audience  even  with  the  most 
sombre  emotions;  the  whole  affair  was 
shabby  and  perfunctory.     There  was  none 


LOW   MASS  159 

of  that  glamour  —  of  which  I  had  heard  so 
much;  no  mysterious  hieratical  figure  per- 
forminir  functions  which  made  the  skin 
prickk^  to  look  upon;  no  awe,  no  incense, 
no  earnestness.  It  was  exactly  such  an 
entertainment  as  those  described  in  a  cer- 
tain sort  of  tract,  where  a  superstitious  and 
blinded  laity  bow  down  before  a  series  of 
actions  that  are  as  unintelligible  to  them 
as  they  are  dishonouring  to  God.  Surely, 
I  said  to  myself,  my  own  bright  church  at 
home,  all  alive  with  a  gay  altar-cloth  and 
flowers,  inspired  by  my  dignified  rector,  who 
moves  and  speaks  with  such  assurance, 
thrilled  by  the  singing  of  ladies  in  a  gallery, 
lighted  by  brilliant  brass  coronae  that,  to 
sentimental  eyes,  resemble  gigantic  celestial 
crowns,  —  surely  the  clean  pews,  the  white 
stone  pillars,  the  rich  organ,  the  thought- 
ful preaching,  the  incomparable  English 
delivered  with  such  fire,  the  thronging  well- 
dressed  congregation  on  Sunday  mornings 
—  in  fact  the  w^hole  affair  —  is  infinitely 
more  in  accord  with  what  we  understand 
by  Christianity,  than  this  shabby,  heartless, 


160        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

dingy,   cold,   formal  set  of  actions  that  is 
called  Low  Mass. 

Such  were  my  reflections.  And  I  cannot 
tell  you  when  the  change  came;  I  suppose 
it  was  gradual.  I  began  to  conceive  of 
another  interpretation  as  I  dozed  in  my 
carriage  on  the  way  down  from  Victoria;  it 
had  almost  become  outlined  by  the  time 
that  I  reached  home;  and  now  that  I  have 
had  a  couple  of  nights'  rest,  and  am  sitting 
at  my  table,  I  think  I  understand  a  little 
better  what  it  was  all  about. 

First,  then,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  ob- 
ject of  Low  Mass,  if  I  may  say  so,  is  God, 
not  man.  I  do  not  say  that  Almighty  God 
is  not  pleased  with  music  and  beauty  and 
cleanliness:  no  doubt  He  is;  but  these 
accessories  are  not  essential.  I  prefer  my 
friend  to  wear  a  clean  shirt,  but  he  does  not 
cease  to  be  my  friend  when  he  arrives  at  my 
house  after  a  night-journey.  "Near  is  his 
shirt,  but  nearer  is  his  skin";  and,  I  suppose, 
nearest  of  all  his  immortal  soul.  Something 
then  in  Low  Mass  is  done  towards  God;  I 


LOW   MASS  161 

confess  I  do  not  yet  properly  understand 
what  that  is;  but  at  least  it  is  believed  that 
that  is  the  object.  Certainly  nothing  that 
can  be  perceived  by  the  senses  is  done 
towards  man,  except  what  tends  to  repel 
him.  The  fat  clergyman  turned  his  back  on 
the  people  most  of  the  time  —  I  am  sure  that 
they  could  not  tell,  except  from  their  books, 
what  he  was  doing  up  there;  not  one 
word  could  be  heard  by  them,  except  once 
when  I  thought  he  said  Doscum;  and  there- 
fore I  presume  that  he  was  not  seeking  to 
address  them  particularly;  he  wore  shabby 
clothes,  the  candles  were  not  at  all  pretty, 
nor  the  surroundings  calculated  to  impress 
the  eye  except  with  feelings  of  dislike. 

Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  that  point  I  have 
mentioned  is  a  very  important  one.  If  God 
Almighty  is  really  there,  and  desires  to  be 
served  by  man,  it  is  surely  not  vital,  though 
it  may  be  more  decent,  to  use  stately  and 
magnificent  ceremonial.  The  fact  that 
High  Mass  forms  part  of  the  Church's 
offering:,  as  I  have  tried  to  sav  in  another 
paper,  shows  that  the  Papists  do  not  depre- 


162      Px^PERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

ciate  good  manners  in  approaching  the 
Divine  Majesty;  while  Low  Mass  proves 
that  they  do  not  consider  etiquette  essential. 
(It  is  like  a  child  who  now  calls  his  father 
"Sir,"  and  stands  up  in  his  presence,  and 
now  climbs  on  to  his  knee  and  pulls  his 
beard  or  dozes  with  his  head  on  the  paternal 
shoulder.  I  have  no  child,  but  if  God  had 
given  me  one,  I  must  confess  that  I  should 
have  wished  him  to  use  both  sorts  of  cour- 
tesy to  me. ) 

Now  at  Morning  Prayer  God  is  un- 
doubtedly present,  because  He  is  every- 
where; but  it  is  extremely  hard  to  picture 
Him  as  anything  but  a  mere  spectator, 
diffused  pleasantly  through  the  sunlit 
church,  as  is  that  faint  odour  of  furs  and 
flowers  and  woodwork  to  be  perceived 
there  on  Sunday  morning.  He  is  a  spec- 
tator, interested  and  satisfied  perhaps,  but 
no  more  than  that:  He  is  not  the  object 
of  the  worship  in  the  same  sense  as  at  this 
dingy  little  service  I  have  described.  Rather, 
to  my  mind.  He  resembles  a  King,  be- 
fore whom  his  subjects,  so  engrossed  in  the 


LOW    MASS  1()3 

sweep  of  tlieir  trains,  the  carriage  of  their 
swords  and  hats,  and  tlie  correct  enuncia- 
tion of  their  protestations  of  loyalty,  forget 
the  object  for  which  they  have  come,  and 
w^hisper  and  bow,  as  in  a  ballroom  empty 
of  a  throne. 

But  at  Low  Mass  there  is  another  spirit 
altogether.  It  is  like  the  enteriuf'  of  a 
small  deputation  at  early  morning,  a  little 
frowsy  perhaps  and  slovenly,  but  right  into 
the  Kinix's  bed-chamber  to  assist  him  to 
rise.  It  does  not  stir  their  emotions,  as 
when,  with  clash  of  brass  and  thunder  of 
drums  and  shouting  of  the  populace  in 
brave  array,  they  pace  before  him  across 
the  Cathedral  Square;  but,  for  that  very 
reason,  there  is  the  less  danger  of  their 
forgetting  for  wdiat  purpose  they  do  tlieir 
service.  They  are  there  to  help  the  King 
to  get  up,  to  pour  water  with  chilly  fingers, 
to  hand  stockings,  to  light  fires,  to  draw 
curtains.  There  is  no  kind  of  fear  that  they 
will  do  it  for  fun;  they  do  it  only  because 
he  is  the  King,  and  they  are  his  servants. 

Now,  I  have  already  said  that  I  do  not 


164       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

properly  understand  what  service  It  was 
that  the  man  in  black  and  white,  with  his 
assistant,  believed  he  was  doing  for  God 
Almighty;  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  the 
Lord  appreciated  his  efforts,  and  the  more 
so  because  it  was  done  so  bravely  and  from 
such  a  plain  sense  of  duty. 

Those  people,  too,  who  knelt  behind  me 
and  kept  so  deathly  still  —  surely  they  were 
not  doing  it  for  their  own  enjoyment  either! 
They  were  there  because  their  King  liked 
them  to  be  there,  and  they  came  even  al- 
though they  were  not  compelled,  or  even 
attracted  by  the  sensible  beauty  and  dignity 
of  their  service. 

Was  the  devotional  spirit,  then,  wholly 
absent.^  I  do  not  believe  it,  though  I  felt 
none  myself.  And  this  brings  me  to  the 
second  lesson  I  have  learned  from  Low 
Mass. 

According  to  the  Papist  theory  (and  it 
seems  to  me  highly  reasonable)  there  are 
two  elements  of  spiritual  action  to  be  con- 
sidered.    There  is,  first,  what  the  Church, 


LOW   MASS  105 

in  her  official  capacity,  docs  for  and  on 
behalf  of  the  individual;  and  there  is, 
secondly,  what  the  individual  does  on 
behalf  of  himself  and  of  the  Church  to 
wliich  he  belongs.  We  may  name  these 
elements,  for  brevity's  sake,  the  official  and 
the  personal. 

Now,  the  official  element  finds  its  illustra- 
tions in  a  thousand  matters,  beginning  with 
the  Sacrifice  on  Calvary.  This  was  done 
for  all  men,  and  a  vast  store  of  grace 
liberated  for  their  benefit.  The  Church 
adds  to  this  her  official  acts  —  what  she 
calls  her  Merits;  with  her  sacrifices,  prayers, 
penances,  and  good  actions.  Every  Con- 
templative House,  according  to  this  view, 
carries  on,  in  union  with  the  Life  of  God  on 
earth,  the  work  begun  by  that  Life  and 
Death.  W^e  might  imagine  it  all  as  a  vast 
manufactory  of  grace. 

But  the  personal  element  consists  partly 
in  efforts  not  onlv  to  aid  in  the  work,  but 
to  appropriate  the  benefits  of  it  all  to  the 
worker.  For  example,  if  I  were  a  Catholic, 
and  from  proper  motives  gave  half  a  crown 


166       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

to  a  beggar,  or  said  some  prayers  with 
sincerity,  I  should  by  a  single  action  benefit 
the  beggar,  the  Church,  and  myself,  as  well 
as  please  God. 

These  two  elements,  then,  I  take  it,  must 
always  be  kept  in  mind  when  we  consider 
the  Papist  system,  for  it  is  founded  largely 
upon  them. 

Now,  I  have  never  before  realized  in  all 
my  life  what  a  simple  illustration  of  the 
theory  is  presented  in  Low  Mass;  and  it 
is  rendered  the  more  simple  by  the  strip- 
ping from  its  presentation  of  all  emotional 
accessories  that  might  otherwise  obscure  it. 

There  at  the  altar  stands  the  Church, 
in  vestments  proper  to  her  mind  at  the 
moment,  and  she  goes  about  her  business 
in  a  business-like  manner.  She  is  not  ex- 
horting men,  she  is  dealing  with  their 
Maker.  She  scarcely  casts  one  backward 
glance,  for  it  is  wholly  unessential  to  the  effect 
of  this  particular  business  as  to  whether  at 
the  instant  they  are  attending  or  not;  it  is 
all  a  much  greater  matter  than  that. 

There    behind    kneels    the    individual  — 


LOW   MASS  1G7 

(and  I  may  here  digress  to  bestow  a  maxim 
upon  other  Protestants,  wlio,  like  myself, 
may  sometimes  attend  Papist  functions 
and  tell  them  that  when  they  are  in  doubt, 
to  kneel,  and  remain  kneeling).  There,  then, 
he  kneels,  a  personal  character  with  particu- 
lar tendencies,  likes  and  repulsions,  objects, 
desires,  ambitions,  fears;  and  he  is  encour- 
aged to  retain  them  all  so  far  as  they  will 
pass  the  test  of  God's  fire.  He  is  not,  at 
this  moment,  being  put  through  his  exer- 
cises, or  compelled  to  say  these  words  and 
not  those,  to  make  postures,  to  generate 
prescribed  emotions;  he  is  left  entirely 
alone;  his  minister  is  careful  not  to  disturb 
him  by  talk,  or  movement,  or  exhortation; 
nor  is  he  particularly  encouraged  to  attend 
to  what  the  clergyman  is  saying.  He  may 
do  precisely  what  he  likes,  tell  beads,  read 
a  meditation,  or  engage,  if  he  is  able,  in 
mental  prayer;  in  fact,  he  may  follow  what- 
ever course  he  thinks  best  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  a  suitable  attitude  of  soul  in  the 
presence  of  the  Divine. 

Now,  is  not  this  an  extraordinarily  good 


168       PAPERS   OF   A  PARIAH 

arrangement?  Contrast  with  any  other 
system  that  you  like.  The  Church  of 
England  in  her  offices  is  a  sour  school- 
mistress by  the  side  of  this  Mother:  her 
pupils  must  kneel,  pray,  aspire,  repent, 
attend,  hope,  intercede,  all  to  order.  They 
must  rejoice  in  the  Venite,  meditate  in  the 
psalms,  praise  in  this  canticle,  bless  in 
another,  listen  to  the  tales  of  bloody-minded 
kings  who  died  thirty  centuries  ago,  wrestle 
with  St.  Paul's  logic,  or  have  the  open  eye 
with  John,  and  there  is  no  appeal,  or  relief, 
or  concession.  The  Dissenters  are  yet  more 
stern,  for  these  allow  one  uninspired  man 
to  conduct  the  exercises  according  to  the 
state  of  mind  he  chances  to  be  in,  and  lead 
the  dismal  band  with  his  arbitrary  baton  in 
strains  that  they  have  never  practised.  The 
Quakers,  indeed,  attract  one  more  than 
either,  for  these  at  least  leave  a  man  for 
the  most  part  to  his  own  moods,  but  they 
lack  the  objective  might  of  the  Mass 
enacted  before  the  eyes,  to  remind  us  that 
heaven-gate  is  open,  God's  eye  observant , 
and  His  Heart  overflowing  —  even,  if  the 


LOW   .MASS  l()l) 

theory  is  true,  to  open  His  Heart  yet  more 
widely,  and  take  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
by  the  only  force  that  Omnipotence  cannot 
resist. 

There  then,  if  I  had  had  eyes  to  see,  was 
the  entire  Church  of  God  at  her  official 
prayers:  the  white  Carthusians  were  there, 
and  the  black  Benedictines;  the  Poor  Clares 
offered  their  blood  and  tears,  and  the 
Crutched  Friars  their  liberty.  Cries  went 
up  in  that  silence  from  India,  France,  and 
Greenland,  for  each  altar  is  at  the  centre  of 
the  earth,  they  tell  us;  Mary  was  there, 
with  her  virginal  eyes  and  mother's  love; 
the  black  Jesuits,  who  struggled  in  Eliza- 
beth's rope,  were  free  to  remind  their  God 
of  their  pain;  not  one  was  missing  of  all 
who  ever  cried  upon  Him  in  bliss,  expecta- 
tion, or  the  darkness  of  this  w^orld.  For 
Jesus  Christ  their  Prince  was  there,  with 
broken  Body,  and  streaming  Blood,  in 
whom  each  song  was  made  perfect  and  each 
life  accepted. 

And  there  knelt  I,  free  to  play  now  this 


170       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

note,  now  that,  as  my  will  dictated,  in  that 
orchestra  of  glory;  or  to  listen,  or  to  regret, 
or  to  aspire  as  I  was  capable.  And  all  that 
I  thought  of  was  the  fat  man  that  I  saw, 
and  the  pinched  creature  that  I  heard 
snuffling  and  ringing  his  bell;  and  the  poor 
candles,  and  the  bloated  moon  of  a  window, 
and  the  sham  flowers! 

But  then,  is  it  all  true  ?  .  .  . 


BENEDICTION 

November,  1904. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  as  it  was  darkening 
to  dusk,  I  stepped  into  the  Catholic  church, 
and  found  a  service  in  progress. 

It  was  an  astonishingly  simple  one. 

Father  Thorpe  had  set  up  above  the  altar 
a  large,  flat,  gilt  vessel  with  a  glass  centre, 
in  the  midst  of  which  could  be  seen  the 
white  disc  of  the  consecrated  Host;  and 
about  it  burned  a  dozen  candles.  There 
was  a  boy  or  two  on  the  altar  steps,  and 
a  number  of  children  in  the  body  of  the 
church  who  were  singing  a  hymn  on  their 
knees,  while  the  clergyman  swung  a  censer 
two  or  three  times  before  handing  it  back 
to  his  companion. 

Then  there  followed  a  Litany  to  Mary 
the  Mother  of  Jesus,  and  a  collect;  then 
another   hymn    and    another   collect;    after 

171 


172       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

which  the  priest  went  round  behind  the 
altar,  took  down  the  monstrance,  and, 
carrying  it  to  the  front,  made  a  large  sign  of 
the  cross  with  it  over  the  congregation. 
Then  he  replaced,  as  I  suppose,  the  con- 
secrated Host  within  the  tabernacle  while 
the  congregation  sang  a  short  psalm;  and 
the  service  was  over. 

I  was  so  much  interested  and  surprised 
that  I  made  an  opportunity  to  inquire  of 
the  sacristan  what  it  was  that  I  had  wit- 
nessed, and,  from  his  explanations,  and  a 
hymn-book  that  he  allowed  me  to  borrow, 
I  think  I  have  by  now  tolerably  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  very  simple  ceremonies 
of  the  afternoon. 

Briefly,  the  whole  affair  rested,  as  so 
many  other  functions  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  upon  her  belief  that  the  conse- 
crated Host  really  and  truly  is  the  Body  of 
Jesus  Christ. 

It  is  of  no  kind  of  use  to  attempt  to 
understand  or  even  to  criticize  effectively 
this  service  of  Benediction,  as  it  is  called, 
unless  one  first  takes  for  granted  this  faith 


BENEDIC'IION  173 

in  the  Sacramont.  "NVitlioul  that  faith,  all 
is  indeed  superstitious  and  meaningless; 
with  it,  it  becomes  intelligible  and  natural. 

The  idea,  I  imagine,  is  something  as 
follows. 

When  a  soul  approaches  her  Creator,  she 
does  so  in  order  both  to  give  and  to  get; 
to  praise  Him  and  to  pray  to  Him.  In 
Mass,  a  sacrifice  is  offered,  and  the  eti- 
quette, therefore,  is  somewhat  formal  and 
stiff;  a  liturgical  form  is  found  to  be  both 
suitable  and  instructive.  But  Almighty  God 
is  not  only  infinitely  far.  He  is  also  infinitely 
near;  He  is  not  only  complex  in  His  opera- 
tions and  attributes,  but  He  is  simple  in 
His  nature  —  and  this,  I  suppose,  is  what 
Christ  meant  to  teach  us  when  He  said  that 
God  was  Love,  that  He  was  our  Father, 
that  He  was  Light,  and  so  forth. 

Now,  all  this  is  acknowledged,  and  indeed 
insisted  upon,  by  the  Protestant,  who  has 
a  clearer  view  of  God's  love  than  of  His 
majesty,  of  His  simplicity  than  His  com- 
plexity. We  are  told  at  Exeter  Hall  that 
we  need  no  churches  nor  images  nor  cere- 


174       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

monial,  that  God  is  a  spirit,  that  a  gather- 
ing round  the  family  coffee-pot  may  be  as 
pleasing  to  Him  as  the  most  gorgeous  pro- 
cession, terrible  with  banners;  and  in  one 
sense,  of  course,  I  fully  agree  with  the 
rhetorician.  I  take  it  that  the  Christian 
Revelation  proves  to  us  that  we  have  access 
to  the  Father ;  that  mental  prayer  may  reach 
His  throne  no  less  surely  than  plainsong; 
that  God,  who  is  simple,  likes  His  children 
to  be  simple  too. 

Well,  Benediction  seems  to  show  to  me 
that  the  Catholic  Church  fully  recognizes 
these  facts.  It  is  true  that  she  believes 
what  the  Protestant  rejects,  namely,  that 
the  Sacrament  is  really  and  truly  the  Body 
of  Christ,  but  this  belief  illustrates  to  my 
mind  her  superior  simplicity  of  attitude: 
her  doctrine  of  the  Real  Presence  in  itself 
is  not  the  climax  of  an  elaborate  logical 
process  —  the  elaborateness  of  her  exposi- 
tion of  it  was  only  forced  out  of  her  by  the 
elaborateness  of  the  attack  —  in  its  essence 
it  is  merely  an  entirely  simple  acceptance 
of  the  words  of  her  Master,  "This  is  My 


BENEDICTION  175 

Body":  she  accepts  neither  more  nor  less 
than  the  bare  meaning  of  the  words  as 
they  stand.  It  is  His  Body,  she  says; 
and  since  He  is  aUve,  where  His  Body  is, 
He  is.  Therefore  the  Sacrament  is  Jesus 
Christ,  and  must  be  treated  Hke  Jesus 
Christ. 

In  Benediction,  then,  she  acts  upon  her 
faith  witli  an  extreme  directness.  The 
Real  Presence  is  a  mystery,  of  course,  as 
regards  its  mode,  but  no  mystery  as  regards 
its  fact  —  or  rather  it  is  one  of  those  mys- 
teries that  it  is  her  ceaseless  business  to  dis- 
close. God  is  there,  and  must  be  treated  as 
God;  therefore  she  takes  the  three  symbols 
—  music,  lights,  and  incense  —  those  three 
symbols  that  man  has  somehow  always 
associated  with  divine  worship,  and  employs 
them  in  her  devotion :  moreover,  she  aims 
them  directly  at  that  holy  thing  which 
she  declares  to  be  God;  she  addresses  Jesus 
Christ  as  the  Salutary  Host,  she  sends  up 
her  fragrant  smoke  immediately  before  the 
monstrance,  she  burns  her  candles  imme- 
diately round  it.     Finally,  at  the  very  end, 


176       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

her  priest  speaks  no  word;  he  must  not 
come  between  God  and  the  souls  of  His 
children;  therefore  he  envelops  his  hands 
in  a  cloth,  and  in  dead  silence  permits 
Jesus  Christ  to  use  him  almost  mechanically 
in  the  Divine  bestowal  of  the  blessing  of 
peace.  He  lifts  and  moves  the  Sacred 
Host  in  the  form  of  a  great  cross,  but  he 
is  silent;  Another  is  speaking  soundless 
words  in  his  stead. 

Let  us  have  done,  then,  with  this  Pro- 
testant claim  to  simplicity.  Compared 
with  the  elaborate  doctrines  of  Anglican 
and  Nonconformist  divines  —  their  safe- 
guardings,  their  hesitations,  their  agnosti- 
cisms, their  refusals  to  define,  their  volumes 
of  negation  and  warning,  —  the  Catholic 
faith  is  as  a  naked  statue  set  by  the  side 
of  an  elaborately  costumed  wax-work 
figure.  Mr.  Marjoribanks  once  told  me 
that  the  Anglican  doctrine  of  the  Eucharist 
would  occupy  a  couple  of  hours  for  its 
adequate  statement;  Father  Thorpe  told 
me  that  the  Catholic  doctrine  can  be  stated 


BENEDIC'I  lOX  177 

in  four  words,  and  those  Christ's  HOC 
EST  CORPUS  MEUM.  Compare  again, 
let  us  say,  Evening  Prayer  witli  Benedic- 
tion; and  it  is  a  fair  comparison,  for  each 
alike  is  at  the  present  day  the  normal  ser- 
vice of  Sunday  evening,  each  in  its  respec- 
tive communion.  The  one  is  an  extremely 
beautiful  and  scholarly  composition,  drawn, 
it  is  true,  almost  entirely  from  Catholic 
Vespers  and  Compline,  but  can  it  be  com- 
pared for  simplicity  and  direct  appeal  to 
the  ignorant  and  heavy-laden,  with  that 
amazingly  plain  and  moving  ceremony 
which  I  have  described?  I  do  not  say 
that  Evening  Prayer  is  not  admirable  for 
the  learned  and  devout,  just  as  Vespers 
among  the  Papists  is  extremely  suitable 
for  monks  and  holy  persons,  and  as  it  was 
once  suitable  even  for  the  masses  w^hen 
they  understood  what  it  was  all  about  and 
were  able  to  answer  the  priest  intelligently. 
But  in  our  own  days,  when  the  cry  for 
simplicity  and  Gospel  teaching  and  Jesus 
Only  is  waxing  louder  and  louder  among 
those   who   are   in   the   least    interested    in 


178       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

Christianity,  and  when  a  total  lack  of  in- 
terest in  both  faith  and  morals  is  becoming 
more  and  more  evident  among  the  rest, 
can  it  be  denied  that  Benediction  seems 
almost  to  have  been  inspired  from  Heaven, 
to  combine  directness  of  appeal,  easiness 
of  comprehension,  and  proclamation  of  the 
central  doctrine  of  the  Catholic  creed,  all 
in  one  unliturgical  quarter  of  an  hour? 
It  comprises  the  unformality  of  general 
hymn-singing  without  its  purposelessness, 
the  freedom  of  the  prayer-meeting  with- 
out its  wild  undogmatism,  the  eloquence 
of  the  preacher  without  the  distraction 
of  his  personality,  the  impressiveness  of 
sacerdotalism  freed  from  the  clerical  ele- 
ment. It  demands  no  vivid  sense  of  the 
omnipresence  of  God,  for  there  He  is 
within  that  little  white  circle;  no  high 
spiritual  soarings,  for  He  is  not  a  hundred 
yards  away;  no  straining  of  the  eyes  in  the 
realm  of  faith,  for  here  He  is  all  but  in 
sight. 

Now,  I  am  aware  that  there  are  a  hundred 


BENEDICTION  179 

retorts  available;  and  ilic  first,  that  in  fact 
wliich  Mr.  Marjoribaiiks  has  stated  more 
than  once  with  his  usual  fervour,  is  that 
the  whole  affair  is  grossly  materialistic. 

I  do  not  propose  to  answer  this  at  any 
length;  but  I  will  content  myself  with 
assertincr  once  more  that  it  is  neither  his 
business  nor  mine  to  find  fault  with  God's 
methods  when  once  it  is  clear  that  they  are 
His  methods.  I  do  not  wish  to  entangle 
myself  in  Anglican  subtleties;  I  will  only 
say  that  if  it  is  really  true  that  the  Sacra- 
ment is  Christ's  Body,  I  cannot  understand 
how  it  can  be  materialistic  to  treat  it  as 
such;  or  if  it  is  materialistic  (though  I 
shrewdly  suspect  that  my  friend  does  not 
realize  the  meaning  of  the  word),  then  it 
is  right  to  be  materialistic  because  God 
Almighty  wishes  us  to  be  so.  The  whole 
thing  stands  and  falls  by  the  reality  of  the 
Presence. 

But  the  Vicar  of  St.  Symphorosa  would 
chime  in  here. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  would  say,  "it  is  use- 
less  to    talk    like    that.     I    am    as    firm   a 


180       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

believer  in  the  Real  Presence  as  yourself; 
but  I  would  not  dream  of  treating  the  Holy 
Sacrament  with  such  offensive  familiarity. 
Christ  ordained  it  for  the  offering  of  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  and  the  Communion  of  His 
Body  and  Blood,  and  we  have  no  right  to 
use  it  for  any  other  purpose  —  and  as  a 
proof  of  this  I  would  remind  you  of  the 
fact  that  Benediction  was  an  unknown 
service  in  the  early  Church,  that  it  was  not 
introduced  into  England  until  after  the 
Reformation,  and  that  the  Eastern  Churches 
to  this  day  know  it  not." 

Now,  this  objection  appears  to  me  far 
more  worthy  of  an  answer  than  Mr.  Mar- 
joribanks';  yet  I  do  not  intend  to  answer 
it  at  length,  or  to  plunge  into  deep  contro- 
versy.    I  will  only  say  this. 

I  distrust  the  appeal  to  the  early  Church 
with  all  my  heart.  It  appears  to  me,  when 
I  hear  it  from  the  mouth  of  Anglicans,  to 
be  always  accompanied  by  a  sense  that  the 
Church  of  God  is  a  kind  of  antiquarian 
institution  whose  business  it  is  to  attempt 
to  reproduce  in  modern   times   a  state  of 


BENEDICTION  181 

tilings  from  which  we  have  been  purposely 
delivered  by  Almighty  God.  We  might  as 
well  insist  upon  carpeting  our  floor  with 
rushes,  and  deprecating  the  use  of  forks, 
because  the  Elizabethans  had  a  better  taste 
in  domestic  architecture  than  ourselves. 
There  is  no  harm,  of  course,  in  such  fads, 
if  we  take  them  up  merely  as  pastimes  and 
pretences;  but  they  become  fanatical  non- 
sense so  soon  as  they  are  seriously  assumed. 
To  my  eyes,  God  is  the  God  of  the  living, 
not  of  the  dead;  it  is  He  who  has  made  us, 
and  we  must  not  try  to  unmake  ourselves; 
it  is  He  who  has  substituted  wheels  for 
rollers,  steamships  for  barges,  forks  for 
fingers,  the  electric  telegraph  for  mounted 
couriers.  His  idea  surely  remains  the  same 
throughout,  that  we  should  live  our  life,  go 
on  journeys  by  land  and  sea,  eat  our  food, 
and  hold  communion  with  one  another;  and 
He  supplies  means  after  means,  now  more 
simple,  now  more  complicated  —  the  pen- 
dulum of  discovery  continually  swings  from 
side  to  side;  a  new  force  is  unearthed,  new 
machinery  springs  into  complex  existence. 


182       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

and  presently  subsides  again  into  simplicity 
—  and  all  the  while  the  business  of  life  goes 
forward  swifter  and  swifter  towards  its 
final  consummation. 

Now,  why,  in  His  Name,  should  the  busi- 
ness of  worship  alone  stand  still?  Why 
should  not  new  methods  be  continually 
devised,  elaborated,  simplified,  and  even 
superseded,  so  long  as  the  principle  remains 
the  same  —  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the 
Saints?  Father  Thorpe,  as  he  lifted  the 
monstrance  in  silence,  meant  precisely  what 
St.  Paul  meant  as  he  lifted  the  tiny  white 
fragment  from  the  cracked  plate  in  the 
upper  room  at  Ephesus,  crying,  "The  Body 
of  the  Lord  broken  for  you!"  Each  alike 
honoured  God,  declared  the  Faith,  and 
desired  that  through  that  Living  Bread 
the  people  might  be  succoured. 

What  business  has  this  clergyman  to 
protest  and  criticize?  Let  him  rather  look 
to  himself  that  in  rejecting  life  and  develop- 
ment he  may  not  be  rejecting  the  Lord  of 
them  both ;  that  in  his  zeal  for  English  anti- 
quarianism  he  may  not  be  faithless  to  Him 


BENEDICTlOxN  183 

before  whom  there  is  neither  Jew  nor 
Greek,  bond  nor  free;  that  in  his  anxiety 
to  be  faithful  to  ancient  practice  he  may 
not  betray  Ilim  who  is  unchanging  in  a 
thousand  forms  and  under  ten  thousand 
symbols,  Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  for  ever. 

Such,  then,  are  my  first  impressions  of 
Benediction.  It  is  true  that  possibly  after 
a  while  I  might  find  it  wearisome;  but  I  do 
not  think  I  could  find  it  wearisome  if  I 
loved  Jesus  Christ,  and  believed  that  He 
was  really  there.  A  child  who  climbs  on 
his  mother's  knee  night  after  night  with  the 
same  words,  or  a  boy  who  is  blessed  every 
night  by  his  father  and  told  to  be  good,  can 
scarcely  find  these  ceremonies  tiresome 
unless  there  is  some  shadow  between  him 
and  his  parents.  Therefore,  if  I  should 
find  myself  wearied  of  the  perpetual  Tan- 
tum  ergo  and  Adoremus  in  aeternum,  I 
should  look  for  the  reason,  not  in  those 
pulsating  songs  of  joy,  but  in  my  own  cold 
heart:  I  should  ask  myself,  as  in  fact  I  do. 


184       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

whether  I  truly  beheve  that  Jesus  Christ 
is  really  present,  and  whether  I  do  find  Him 
fairer  than  the  children  of  men. 

Yes,  these  questions  are  the  important 
ones  to  ask.  We  want  no  philosophical  or 
antiquarian  discussions.  .  .  . 


THE    PERSONALITY    OF    THE 
CHURCH 

November,  1904. 

I  DO  not  propose  to  be  so  foolish  as  to 
attempt  to  define  what  I  mean  by  Person- 
ahty,  nor  even  to  describe  it  at  any  length. 
It  is  not  the  resultant  of  innumerable  living 
cells  in  union,  nor  the  sum  of  intellectual 
and  emotional  qualities,  nor  is  it  even  iden- 
tical with  Character.  It  is  partly  these, 
no  doubt,  and  may  be  viewed,  or  even 
sometimes  stated,  in  the  terms  of  each  of 
these  three  systems,  yet  it  transcends  them 
all.  It  may  be  compared,  perhaps,  by  an 
amateur  such  as  myself,  most  luminously, 
to  a  chord  of  music,  —  "not  a  fourth  sound, 
but  a  star."  Like  the  flame  of  fire,  the 
fragrance  of  a  rose,  the  glory  of  a  sunset, 
it    may    be    analyzed    and    accounted    for 

185 


186       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

by  the  philosopher  or  the  chemist,  but 
it  can  be  apprehended  only  by  the  poet, 
artist,  or  lover.  So  at  least  it  seems  to 
me. 

The  point,  however,  which  I  wish  to 
discuss  with  myself  is  the  fact  of  the  per- 
sonality, or  at  least  something  resembling 
it,  of  which  we  are  aware  in  every  society, 
divine  or  human.  Just  as  the  personality 
of  a  man  transcends  the  sum  of  his  attri- 
butes, or  appears  to  do  so  —  for  a  character 
may  be  attractive  to  me,  who  dislike  every 
one  of  its  component  elements  so  far  as  I 
know  them  —  so  the  personality  of  a  society 
may  be  something  very  different  from 
what  one  would  conceive  to  be  the  aggre- 
gate of  those  personalities  which  compose 
it.  It  is  a  notorious  fact,  for  example, 
that  a  company  consisting  of  pleasant, 
right-minded  folk  is  often  found  in  its 
public  acts  to  show  neither  courtesy  nor 
conscience:  a  board  of  ten  directors  may 
cheerfully  pursue  a  career  of  social  crime 
which  would  be  the  horror  of  each  of  its 


CIIURCirS   rERSONALITY       187 

members;  a  college  may  he  composed  of 
twelve  tolerant  scholars,  and  yet  in  its 
policy  afford  a  shocking  picture  of  narrow- 
minded  and  ungenerous  bigotry. 

Yet  the  explanation  of  this  is  not  far  to 
seek;  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  in 
all  human  societies  the  bond  of  union  is 
not  one  of  courtesy  or  conscience,  still  less 
of  immortal  souls:  it  is  rather  for  commerce 
or  learning,  or  some  other  mutual  material 
advantage  that  tliey  combine.  A  director 
of  a  railroad  may  be  a  church-w^arden  or 
a  mystic,  but  he  is  not  united  with  his 
fellows  in  that  capacity;  and  the  result, 
therefore,  of  Monday  morning  deliberations 
is  what  might  be  expected  of  a  number 
of  persons  who  have  officially  left  their 
Christianity  at  home.  The  religion,  and 
even  the  motives  that  guide  each  gentle- 
man in  his  domestic  dealings,  are  wholly 
absent,  not  indeed  from  him,  but  from  the 
contribution  that  he  makes  to  the  business 
for  whose  sake  he  is  seated  at  the  green- 
covered  table. 

Instances  might  be  indefinitely  multiplied 


188       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

of  this  curious  social  fact.  A  mob  collec- 
tively may  be  swayed  by  motives  which 
each  howling  unit  would  unhesitatingly 
repudiate;  a  jury  may,  after  an  hour's 
deliberation,  condemn  a  fellow-creature  to 
death  on  evidence  which  each  juryman 
would  scarcely  think  sufficient  to  turn  the 
balance  in  the  buying  of  a  horse;  and  yet, 
who  can  doubt  that  trial  by  jury  is,  on  the 
whole,  supremely  just?  The  fact  remains, 
explain  as  we  will,  that  when  once  a  union 
is  set  up  between  sentient  wills  there  comes 
into  being  a  strange  character  —  I  had 
almost  called  it  Personality  —  which  appears 
at  any  rate  certainly  transcendent  of,  and 
even  alien  to,  the  various  elements  of  which 
it  ought  to  be  the  result. 

If  this  thought  is  a  significant  one,  when 
we  consider  its  bearing  on  human  societies, 
how  far  more  pregnant  it  becomes  when 
we  transfer  it  to  that  astonishing  society 
which  we  call  the  Catholic  Church.  In 
that  Church  we  have  a  union  based,  not 
upon  commercial  considerations,  or  the 
pursuit    of    science,    but    upon    huge    and 


CIIURCirS   PERSONALITY      180 

monstrous  facts  which  wc  are  scarcely 
able  even  to  apprehend.  The  souls  of  men 
are  concerned,  united  one  to  another,  not 
for  temporal  ends,  but  eternal.  They  are 
brought  together,  not  for  purposes  of  press- 
ing earthly  claims  or  conducting  worldly 
business,  or  even  advocating  a  certain 
system  of  thought,  but  tliat  they  may 
minister  to  the  infinite  glory  of  God  and 
find  a  spiritual  salvation  which  cannot  even 
be  pictured  to  the  imagination.  Again, 
the  units  which  compose  this  society  are 
selected  on  account,  not  of  their  capacity, 
but  their  needs;  no  nation  or  class  is 
excluded;  the  saint  has  no  more  claim 
than  the  sinner,  the  theologian  than  the 
dunce.  None  are  rejected  save  those  who 
reject;  none  are  encouraged  save  those 
who  voluntarily  correspond.  Yet,  with  all 
this,  if  the  Church's  claim  is  true,  the 
union  that  binds  her  children  together 
transcends  that  of  all  human  societies,  as 
her  object  transcends  theirs.  The  con- 
tribution that  each  must  make  is  not  that 
of  one  set  of  faculties,  of  this  or  that  hour 


190       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

of  time,  of  this  piece  of  experience  or  that 
intention;  but  of  his  whole  self,  body, 
mind,  and  immortal  soul;  and  each  such 
self  is  welded  into  union  with  its  fellows 
after  a  fashion  for  which  there  is  no  ade- 
quate analogy  in  the  world.  It  is  through 
a  new  and  mystical  birth  that  each  must 
pass  —  a  birth  that  changes  character  while 
it  does  not  obliterate  characteristics;  and 
it  is  through  this  very  birth,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  which  even  the  professed  theologian 
is  apt  to  doubt  his  powers,  that  every 
soul  enters  into  a  mysterious  life  flowing 
from  God  and  permeating,  not  earth  alone, 
but  Heaven  and  Purgatory  as  well,  which 
is  named  the  Communion  of  Saints. 

Again,  approaching  the  subject  from  the 
dogmatic  standpoint,  we  find  a  number  of 
phrases  in  the  Scriptures  descriptive  of  this 
extraordinary  fact,  which  appear  to  open 
to  believers  new  ranges  of  thought  as  to 
its  contents  —  Christ  compares  Himself  to 
a  Vine,  of  which  His  disciples  are  the 
branches,  and  seems,  by  the  metaphor,  to 
insist   yet   more   strongly    on    the    actually 


CHURCH'S   PERSONALITY       191 

Divine  nature  of  His  Cliurch's  personality. 
From  one  point  of  view  tlie  Church  is 
composed  of  its  members,  from  anotlier 
it  is  identical  with  Himself.  In  one  phrase 
we  are  informed  that  He  is  the  Head  and 
we  the  members,  and  in  another  that  the 
Body,  too,  is  His,  indwelt  by  His  Spirit 
and  guided  by  His  jNIiud.  In  brief,  if  we 
accept  the  New  Testament  as  an  authori- 
tative guide,  we  are  informed  that,  while 
our  instincts  are  riorht  in  attributing:  some 
kind  of  personality  or  character  to  every 
society,  however  loosely  held  together,  the 
personality  of  the  Divine  Society  which 
is  called  the  Church  is  infinitelv  more 
worthy  of  the  name,  for  that  by  virtue  of 
the  mystical  union  of  all  believers,  or  per- 
haps in  response  to  it,  there  comes  down 
upon  it  that  transcendent  personality  from 
which  all  others  flow,  even  that  Divine 
character  whicli  is  tlie  possession  of  God 
alone.  If  a  board  of  directors  or  a  college 
of  scholars  generates  a  character  alien 
from  its  component  elements  so  far  as  we 
know  them,  the  Catholic   Church,  on  the 


192       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

other  hand,  generates  a  thing  that  on  one 
hand  we  may  call  the  Communion  of 
Saints,  and  on  the  other  the  Spirit  or  the 
Mind,  or  even  the  Person  of  Jesus  Christ 
Himself. 

Now  I  am  not  the  man  to  pursue  this 
line  of  thought  further;  perhaps  I  am  not 
even  the  man  to  pursue  it  so  far;  but  it 
appears  to  me  to  illuminate  a  large  number 
of  dark  subjects.     Let  me  mention  two. 

(1.)  The  act  of  faith,  to  one  who  can 
accept  my  presentation,  appears  no  longer 
to  be  an  unreasonable  thing,  for  its  object 
is  no  longer  an  elaborate  system  of  thought 
which  the  convert  is  required  to  criticize, 
but  a  personal  character.  Few  men  are 
capable,  if  indeed  any  are,  of  passing  final 
judgment  upon  a  philosophy  or  an  art;  but 
no  man  is  excusable  if  he  refuses  to  judge 
of  one  who  claims  his  friendship :  in  fact,  he 
cannot  refuse,  when  once  the  claim  is 
made  clear. 

I  have  no  right  to  say  dogmatically  that 


CHURCH'S  PERSONALITY       193 

I  know  tliat  homoeopathy  is  a  dchision, 
unless  I  have  made  an  exhaustive  study  of 
its  contents,  and  perhaps  not  even  then; 
but  I  have  a  perfect  riglit  to  say  that  I  will 
choose  this  doctor  and  not  that:  and  this, 
I  think,  is  a  fair  though  rough  parallel  to 
the  search  after  religious  truth.  The  Church 
comes  to  me,  not  under  the  guise  of  a  creed, 
but  in  the  habiliments  of  a  person.  "Look 
well  at  me,"  she  says,  "read  my  history  if 
you  will,  ask  for  my  testimonials,  study 
what  I  have  to  say;  but,  above  all,  give 
me  a  personal  interview.  Exercise  that 
faculty  which  you  exercise  in  the  choice  of 
a  wife,  or  a  doctor,  or  a  friend,  and  act 
upon  it.  You  may  reject  me  as  many  others 
have  done  and  will  do  to  the  end  of  time. 
Men  make  mistakes  w4th  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  such  as  the  conscientious 
Pharisee  or  the  distraught  sinner  made 
when  they  looked  upon  Jesus  Christ  and 
passed  by.  I  do  not  even  say  that  it  will 
necessarily  be  your  fault;  it  nuiy  well  be 
that  education,  or  prejudice,  or  natural 
blindness,  will  lead  even  you  to  misread  my 


194        PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

eyes;  but  do  not  make  the  mistake  of  think- 
ing that  your  judgment  is  a  matter  only  of 
learning  or  profound  study:  it  is  not  chiefly 
that;  it  is  a  personal  thing  within  the  range 
of  all  normal  persons.  I  am  not  merely 
the  aggregate  of  my  members,  or  the  total 
of  my  units.  You  need  not  know  my  his- 
tory, or  have  precise  knowledge  of  my  doc- 
trine, or  estimate  the  statistics  of  the  world's 
morality.  I  am  a  kind  of  person,  like 
yourself,  and  I  desire  to  be  so  treated." 

(2. )  The  claim  to  infallibility,  too,  looked 
at  in  the  light  of  this  supposition,  is  no 
longer  an  absurd  thing.  It  is  said,  some- 
times with  a  show  of  reason,  that  the 
judgment  of  a  body  of  persons  acting  in 
concert  cannot  exceed  in  value  the  judg- 
ment of  all  those  persons  acting  separately. 
So  Fulke  said  to  Campion.  Yet  we  have 
seen,  even  in  human  societies,  how  widely 
such  judgments  may  differ.  The  decision 
of  a  jury  may  be  something  very  different 
from  the  aggregate  of  the  opinions  of  its 
members,  since  each  may  be  dull  and  yet 


CIIURCirS   PERSONALITY       195 

all  shrewd.  How  mucli  more,  then,  may 
not  the  judgment  of  a  Divine  Society, 
united  by  a  mystical  bond  of  which  we  can 
scarcely  do  more  than  guess  the  nature, 
transcend  the  judgment  of  each  of  its  mem- 
bers mechanically  added  together?  And 
above  all,  in  view  of  the  phrases  which  I 
have  quoted,  it  surely  should  not  be  hard 
for  those  who  accept  Jesus  Christ  as  God, 
to  allow  that  the  judgment  of  His  Church, 
which  in  one  aspect  is  indistinguishable 
from  Himself,  is  as  infallible  as  His  own! 
Each  reason,  each  quotation,  each  illustra- 
tion of  an  Ecumenical  Decree,  may  be  faulty, 
yet  the  decision  itself  be  true. 

Lastly,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
Catholic  Church,  at  any  rate,  seems  to  pre- 
sent the  phenomenon  of  a  personal  charac- 
ter quite  unlike  that  of  any  other  society. 
She  is  accused  by  her  enemies  of  being  at 
once  unchanging  and  changeable,  obstinate, 
and  capricious.  She  appeals  to  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  heart  at  least  as  much  as  to 
the  critical  faculty.     Men  fall  in  love  with 


196       PAPERS  OF  A  PARIAH 

her,  as  they  do  not  fall  in  love  with  the 
Royal  Geographical  Society;  she  does  not 
depend  upon  her  material  accessories  —  she 
is  loved  or  loathed  as  much  beneath  a  cor- 
rugated tin  roof  as  beneath  fretted  vaults 
and  spires;  coarse  boors  and  unemotional 
peasants  die  for  her  as  cheerfully  as  refined 
scholars  and  attenuated  mystics  live  by  her. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  her  enemies  hate 
her  with  a  passion  that  can  only  be  personal, 
they  witness  to  her  life  by  the  very  fury 
with  which  they  attack  it.  In  other  words, 
she  presents  exactly  those  phenomena  which 
surround  a  lovable  person  whose  character 
is  sufficiently  magnetic  to  affect  all  who 
come  within  her  range  with  either  adoration 
or  hatred.  Above  all  she  is  credited,  even 
by  those  who  deny  her  claims,  with  endow- 
ments that  can  only  properly  belong  to  a 
sentient  being;  she  never  forgets,  it  is 
said,  she  plots,  she  welcomes,  she  inspires. 
Mr.  Mallock,  in  a  moving  paragraph  or  two, 
describes  her  claim  to  have  been  present  at 
the  empty  tomb  of  her  Lord  and  Spouse, 
and  explains  that  her  children  believe  in 


CHURCH'S   PERSONALITY       197 

the  Resurrection,  not  because  of  document- 
ary evidence,  but  because  of  her  word 
who  was  an  eye-witness  of  that  supreme 
credential  of  hers  and  His.  "I  saw  it,"  she 
cries;  "1  witnessed  the  meeting  of  His 
Mother  and  mine;  I  was  in  the  boat  witli 
John  and  Peter;  I  stood  witliin  tlie  upper 
room  when  the  doors  were  shut;  I  watched 
the  cloud  receive  Him :  I  saw  —  I  who 
speak  with  you  now." 

Yes,  there  is  no  question  about  it  that 
if  ever  I  find  myself  able  to  receive  Christi- 
anity as  Divine,  I  shall  seek  it  at  the  moutli 
of  one  who  can  vouch  for  its  truth,  and  in 
whose  trustwortliiness  I  myself  believe. 
Documents  and  criticism  are  not  founda- 
tions on  which  spiritual  Hfe,  self-sacrifice, 
and  eternal  issues  can  be  safely  reposed; 
I  have  neither  time  nor  power  to  sift  evi- 
dence and  weigh  testimonies,  nor  sufficient 
self-confidence  to  reject  this  as  an  accretion 
and  accept  that  as  a  survival.  I  must  put 
myself,  if  ever  I  feel  personally  justified  in 
doing  so,  in  the  hands  of  one  whom  I  per- 


198       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

ceive  to  be  Divine,  whose  life  is  as  con- 
tinuous as  the  centuries,  whose  memory 
is  as  unfaihng  as  time,  and  through  whose 
glowing  eyes  I  see  tlie  Spirit  of  God  to 
shine.  .  .  . 


DEATH 


January,  1905. 


This  morning  my  landlord  ran  into  my 
room  in  great  agitation,  telling  me  that  his 
cousin,  who  lived  a  hundred  yards  away, 
had  been  seized  witli  some  kind  of  con- 
vulsions and  lay  dying.  The  doctor  had 
been  sent  for,  and  the  priest  —  for  the  man 
was  a  Catholic;  but  neither  was  yet  come, 
and  the  women  were  terrified. 

I  took  my  hat  and  ran  back  with  him, 
and  on  the  very  doorstep  encountered  the 
doctor;  and  we  w^ent  upstairs  together. 

The  sick  man  had  been  got  to  bed,  and 
lay  there  deatlily  pale,  with  open  eyes, 
staring  out  senselessly  through  the  window 
opposite,  which  none  had  thought  to  screen : 
his  hands  were  hidden,  his  lips  were  parted, 
and  his  face  twitched  from  time  to  time. 
A    woman    stood    by    him,    helpless    and 

IU9 


200       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

anxious,  nearly  as  pale  as  he;  she  gave  a 
great  sob  of  relief  as  we  came  in  together. 

While  the  doctor  was  at  his  work,  I 
went  and  stood  by  the  window  looking  out, 
wondering  at  the  swiftness  with  which 
tragedy  had  suddenly  dropped  upon  the 
sordid  house.  I  wondered,  too,  as  to  a  great 
many  other  things  —  as  to  the  man's  mind 
as  he  stared  into  eternity,  the  horror  of  the 
whole  affair,  the  Supreme  Mind  which, 
apparently,  plans  such  an  exit  from  this 
life,  and  gives  us  all  an  hour  of  terror  to 
which  we  must  look  forward.  Why,  too, 
I  asked  myself,  is  all  so  elaborate;  why  do 
we  all  do  our  utmost  to  prolong  a  life  such 
as  this,  which  has  crept  along  suffering 
from  internal  pain,  as  I  knew,  for  more 
than  ten  years  ?  And  my  answer  was  that 
it  was  instinct,  not  reason,  that  inspired  us; 
death  was  so  shocking  that  there  was  no 
question  but  that  it  must  be  resisted  with 
might  and  main  as  by  a  kind  of  reflex 
action:  our  efforts  were  scarcely  defensible, 
but  entirely  necessary  and  natural.  I 
thought  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  as  I 


DEATH  201 

looked  out  on  to  the  woods  in  the  valley  be- 
neath. It  was  a  windless  morning,  mellow 
and  sweet;  the  ground  fell  away  rapidly 
below,  and  the  meadow  merged  presently 
in  a  slope  of  undergrowth  that  rose  up  into 
saplings  and  birches,  and  deep  woods  be- 
yond. The  air  was  like  warm  wine  this 
morning,  soft  and  invigorating:  over  the 
leafless  branches  there  lay  a  velvet  softness 
as  of  coming  spring,  and  over  all  rose  up 
the  tender  vault  of  blue  skeined  with  clouds. 
I  must  confess  that  it  was  chiefly  ironical 
horror  that  prevailed  in  my  mind.  It  was 
terrible  to  think  that  a  Lord  of  Love  was 
supposed  to  be  transcendent  beyond  that  sky 
and  immanent  in  this  lower  air  and  life  —  a 
Lord  of  Love  that  was  Almighty,  too,  and 
could  so  easily  have  arranged  all  otherwise, 
or  explained  it  a  little  to  reassure  us  that 
there  w^as  some  plan  behind  this  apparent 
carelessness  and  brutality.  Here  was  a 
chess-board  of  black  and  white  —  of  suffer- 
ing and  sweetness,  the  dying  man  and  the 
kindling  woods;  and  what  right  have  I  to 
choose  to  say  that  the  board  is  essentially 


202       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

white  and  only  accidentally  black?  If  it 
were  I  who  were  dying,  should  I  not  feel 
that  agony  was  the  truth  of  it  all,  and 
peace  no  more  than  an  occasional  incident  ? 
So  far  as  I  remember  pain,  it  seems  to  me 
to  be  so. 

This  Lord  of  Love,  too  —  what  was  He 
doing  at  this  time,  and  His  Mother  and  the 
saints  and  the  hosts  of  impassible  spirits? 
Were  they  aware  of  what  was  happening? 
They  watch  and  give  no  sign,  and  the 
horror  goes  on,  ruthless  and  inevitable. 

When  I  turned  round  at  a  sound.  Father 
Thorpe  was  at  the  doorway. 

Now  I  cannot  describe,  except  very 
briefly,  what  took  place  next,  for  I  am 
quite  unskilful  in  ecclesiastical  matters  and 
should  no  doubt  blunder. 

First  of  all,  the  priest  came  across  to  the 
table  near  me,  drew  out  a  little  bag,  all 
without  a  word,  set  down  two  doll's  candles 
and  lighted  them.  He  spread  a  little  linen 
square,  put  up  a  little  crucifix;  and  then 
drew  from  round  his  neck  another  bag  with 


DEATH  203 

cords.  lie  opened  this,  and  set  down  a 
tiny  silver  thing  like  a  watch. 

Then  I  saw  tliat  the  others  were  kneel- 
ing, and  I  knelt  down  too. 

Presently,  he  was  across  again  by  the 
bed,  kneeling  by  it,  and  telling  the  sick 
man  that  he  was  come  to  give  him  the 
Last  Sacraments.  He  said  that  Jesus  Christ 
had  died  on  the  Cross  for  his  sake;  that 
God  did  not  ask  us  to  do  what  we  could 
not,  and  that  He  understood  that  con- 
fession was  impossible.  He  must  make 
an  act  of  contrition,  then;  let  him  say  in 
his  heart,  "My  God,  I  am  sorry  for  my 
sins  because  I  love  Thee  with  my  whole 
heart." 

He  spoke  like  this  for  a  moment  or  two, 
with  a  kind  of  brisk,  but  not  untender, 
earnestness,  looking  steadily  at  the  white 
face  that  stared  back  at  him  with  scarcely 
more  than  a  glimmer  of  sense;  then  he 
stood  up,  and  pronounced,  I  suppose,  the 
Absolution.  Then  he  was  back  again  at 
the  table,  opening  the  silver  watch-case. 

I  did  not  like  to  observe  very  closely;  but 


204       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

I  was  aware  presently  that  the  priest  was 
holding  up  the  little  white  disc  and  repeat- 
ing some  words:  then  he  was  back  again  at 
the  bedside,  leaning  over  the  dying  man,  and 
there  was  something  resembling  a  tiny 
struggle,  as  the  man  was  heaved  up  by  his 
cousin  and  the  priest  bent  forward.  .  .   . 

Then  the  anointing  began;  his  hands,  his 
eyes,  his  ears,  his  nostrils,  and  his  mouth. 
All,  one  by  one,  were  signed  by  the  priest's 
thumb;  finally,  the  bed-clothes,  already 
loosened,  were  drawn  up  at  the  end  of  the 
bed,  and  his  feet,  too,  were  signed  and 
covered  again. 

Then,  after  a  few  more  prayers  and  cere- 
monies, to  which  I  did  not  attend  very 
closely,  the  priest  blew  out  the  candles  and 
went  out  of  the  room  to  whisper  with  the 
doctor. 

Now,  written  down  badly  like  this,  I  am 
aware  that  all  this  sounds  most  unimpres- 
sive, distinctly  "vain,"  and  probably  rather 
superstitious.  Yet  all  that  I  can  say  is  that 
these   ceremonies   and   words,   the   bearing 


DEATO  205 

of  the  priest,  the  half-intelHgent  response 
of  the  sick  man,  wlio  was  by  now  clasping 
a  crucifix  and  looking  upon  it,  the  sudden 
frozen  stillness  of  those  who  assisted  —  in 
fact,  the  effect  of  the  entire  performance  — 
produced  an  extraordinary  change  in  me. 

As  I  sit  now  in  the  evening  writing  this 
in  my  study,  it  appears  to  me  that  my  first 
reflections  on  the  tragedy  and  heartlessness 
of  death  were  those  of  a  stupid  savage.  I 
cannot  tell  what  it  was  exactly  that  wrought 
the  change ;  I  can  only  say  that  when  all  was 
done,  the  change  was  there. 

Death  no  longer  seemed  to  me  a  sicken- 
ins:  horror;  it  had  turned  into  a  warm  and 
soothing  presence;  it  was  awful  still,  but 
with  the  mysterious  awfulness  of  a  great 
and  quiet  forest  rather  than  that  of  a 
slaughter-house  or  a  w^ind-swept  icy  peak 
with  howling  precipices.  It  was  as  if,  after 
a  couple  of  harsh  notes  had  been  struck  on 
some  instrument  —  notes  of  brutal  irrecon- 
cilable contrasts,  another  had  been  added 
to  them  which  resulted  in  a  solemn  sweet 
chord.     There  was  no  longer  that  shocking 


206       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

inconsistency  between  the  mellow  day  out- 
side and  the  death-sweat  and  mortal  pains 
within;  it  was  no  longer  true  that  a  Lord 
of  Love  held  Himself  apart  in  some  sunny 
Heaven  and  tossed  this  heart-breaking 
problem  down  into  a  venomously  cruel 
world;  it  was  all  one  now:  He  held  both 
in  the  hollow  of  His  Arms  against  His 
quiet  Heart,  in  a  span  so  vast  that  I  could 
not  follow  it,  but  in  an  embrace  so  warm 
that  I  was  no  longer  chilled. 

Ah!  it  is  not  possible  to  say  how  all  this 
came  about,  nor  how  real  it  was  to  me.  I 
can  only  tell  myself  again  that  it  was  like 
a  chord  of  music,  struck  without  a  stroke, 
sounding  without  vibration,  welling  out  in 
the  stillness  as  of  an  orchestra  of  strings 
and  mellow  horns  held  long  to  one  great 
harmony  that  reconciled  good  and  evil, 
pain  and  joy,  life  and  death,  God  and 
nature. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  am  either  heartless 
or  sentimental.  I  know  that  there  were 
tears  on  my  face  just  now  as  I  was  told 
that  the  sick  man  died  an  hour  ago,  and  I 


DEATH  207 

do  not  think  that  they  would  have  been 
there  if  he  had  died  in  my  presence  before 
the  comin<^  of  tlie  priest.  Tt  was  that 
which  resolved  the  discord  and  made  me 
understand  —  that  series  of  actions  and 
incomprehensible  words;  the  sense  benealli 
them  all  that  told  me  that  God  cared  and 
had  provided,  and  that  if  He  allowed  the 
death,  He  furnished  strength  to  meet  it. 
Without  that  1  should  have  been  hard  and 
resentful  and  agonized;  with  it  I  was  able 
to  weep  instead. 

What  a  religion  this  is  in  which  to 
die! 

I  wish  that  I  could  explain  all  that  I 
mean  by  that,  or  even  the  effect  upon  me 
of  what  I  witnessed.  Those  ceremonies 
were  as  the  sliding  of  a  key  into  an  intricate 
lock;  w^e  cannot  grasp  the  mysteries  of  the 
words,  yet  the  door  is  open  and  we  can 
look  within  for  a  few  minutes.  We  cannot 
even  remember  or  tell  what  it  is  that  we 
have  seen.  I  cannot  even  tell  mvself  what 
I  saw  there,  except  that  it  was  not  a  black 


208       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

and  empty  room  into  which  I  looked. 
Death  is  not  Hke  that;  it  is  sweet  and 
friendly,  as  a  fire-lit  hall  into  which  men 
may  see  from  the  darkness  outside.  There 
are,  too,  no  doubt,  other  doors  through 
which  we  may  look;  but  I  am  sure  that 
the  same  view  is  not  seen  through  these. 
That  is  the  least  of  what  I  mean  when 
I  say  that  this  is  the  religion  in  which 
to  die. 

The  first  paper  of  this  kind  which  I  ever 
wrote  was,  I  remember,  on  the  Requiem  on 
All  Souls'  day;  and  here  I  am  back  again 
at  the  same  heart-shaking  point,  death,  and 
what  is  behind  death,  and  beneath  it,  and, 
above  all,  supreme  over  it.  I  wonder,  as  I 
sit  here  and  write,  whether  this  is  possibly 
the  conclusion  of  my  circle;  whether  I  have 
been  led  from  death  to  death,  as  from 
strength  to  strength,  looking  at  this  and 
that,  and  making  my  poor  little  comments 
and  drawing  my  cheap  conclusions,  and 
airing  my  sickly  sentiment  or  my  distressing 
humour  ?  After  all  it  does  not  matter  very 
much.     No  man  can  do  more  than  is  in  his 


DEATH  209 

power,  as  Father  Thorpe  said  this  morning, 
and  though  I  am  well  aware  of  my  own 
subhme  inadequacy,  there  is  this  one  hole 
into  which  1  can  creep  from  the  wrath  of 
the  Lamb,  and  that  is  my  own  sorrow  that 
I  have  ever  offended  Ilim.   .   .   . 

Yes:  this  is  a  reHgion  in  whicli  it  is 
possible  to  die  properly.  What  else  but 
this  would  have  served  that  unimaginative, 
middle-aged  man  whom  I  saw  alive  eight 
hours  ago  ?  He  did  not  want  sentiment, 
or  exhortations  to  an  emotion  of  which  he 
was  incapable,  or  adulation  from  friends 
who  seek  to  make  death  easy  by  an  insin- 
cere flattery  of  a  life  that  was  far  from 
stainless.  He  did  not  even  want  appoint- 
ments to  be  made  with  Him  in  Heaven, 
reminders  that  they  would  all  meet,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent  alike,  at  the  foot  of  an 
improbable  throne.  He  wanted  a  great 
deal  more  than  that,  and  a  great  deal  less. 

He  was  a  sinner,  and  he  knew  it,  and  he 
wished  to  be  dealt  with  on  that  under- 
standing. He  wished  to  be  as  clean  as 
possible,   and   so   he   was   absolved;  to   be 


210       PAPERS   OF  A  PARIAH 

accompanied  by  God  on  that  mysterious 
journey,  and  so  he  received  Viaticum;  to 
be  strengthened  and  cleansed  once  more,  so 
he  was  anointed ;  to  escape  —  as  was  but 
natural  —  all  pains  that  could  be  avoided, 
and  so  he  received  the  Last  Blessing. 
Finally,  he  wished  to  have  his  failing  eyes 
cheered,  and  his  nerveless  hands  supported, 
so  the  image  of  his  Saviour  was  put  into 
his  grasp. 

We  have  lived  so  long  by  our  senses, 
counting  that  real  which  we  can  touch 
and  handle,  that  God  in  His  mercy  allows 
us  in  all  reality  to  do  so  to  the  end.  He 
takes  oil  and  bread  and  water  and  metal, 
and  makes  them,  not  only  the  symbols, 
but  the  very  vehicles  of  what  we  require. 
"Look  on  that,"  cries  the  Church,  as  she 
holds  up  her  crucifix,  "there  is  the  image 
of  your  Lord;  kiss  it  for  His  sake.  Look 
on  this,"  as  she  lifts  the  Host,  "This  is  He 
Himself  —  Ecce  Agnus  Dei  1  Taste  and  see 
that  He  is  gracious.  .  .  .  Turn  your  hands 
over  and  feel  the  soft  oil.  .  .  .  That  is  His 
mighty  loving-kindness.     Abandon  yourself 


DEATH  211 

to  these  tliinpjs;  throw  your  weight  on  thoin, 
and  they  will  bear  you  up.  Seize  them, 
and  you  have  hold  on  eternal  life." 

Please    God,    tliat    she    may    say    these 
things  to  me!  .  .  . 


THE    END 


UC  SOUTHfRN  RfGiONAL  I IBHARY  FACHfTY 


AA    000  353  205    o 


iUilliLtllllllUttllillitiUlliiii; 


